Dragonheart
by skyflower51
Summary: Alduin is dead, and this time, for good. Skyrim is now protected by the Dragonhearts- an alliance of mortals and dragons. But a new enemy is arising that no prophecy foretold, created not by the Divines or the Daedra, but by mortals, and all the Dragonhearts' strength may not be enough. The fate of Nirn does not rest in the hands of the Dragonborn, but in those of her daughter.
1. Prologue

**My first TES story was _Night Eye. _After I finished it, I promised I'd eventually write a sequel. Here it is at last - _Dragonheart_. ****It isn't a direct continuation of _Night Eye _- it's a totally different plot, just set in the same world. I'll also be editing _NE _slightly while I work on this one. ****Although reading _Night Eye _might make some of the backstory to _Dragonheart _a little clearer, I'm pretty certain that this story can be read and understood without reading _NE. _**

**This series is slightly alternate universe. The most important differences are that mortals of mixed race, while still rare, are much more common than in the actual games, and can be born to parents of any races. Dragons have females and offspring (although with a twist that will be explained later in the story.) Most of the other differences will be explained in this prologue.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

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DRAGONHEART

PROLOGUE

A half-hour's walk away from the ancient city of Whiterun, standing alone and proud in the middle of the unforgiving tundra, seldom seen except by giants, mammoths, and those who travel there deliberately in order to see it, there stands a statue.

It is built from pale grey stone, and carved with loving care. There are a few scratches and gouges in it, from where passing sabre cats have sharpened their claws, but otherwise it is flawless. The people who crafted it were hired because they were the best, and they were well-paid for their work. When asked, even now, twenty years after they completed it, they all claim that it was the greatest accomplishment of their lives.

Once, many hundreds of years ago, a tower stood where this statue now stands – the western watchtower of Whiterun. That tower has long since been destroyed, and all that remains of it are the large boulders strewn around the area where it used to be, boulders that were once bricks and parts of walls, but have been worn away by the wind and rain and hail. In fact, the statue is mounted upon one such boulder, although of course the makers of the statue chiselled away the rough edges.

Around the statue, there are flowers. Some grow there naturally, since the statue provides them a place to grow away from the fierce winds of the plain. But most were planted there in tribute. Mountain flowers, dragon's tongue, frost mirriam, tundra cotton, nightshade, deathbell – if it's a native plant of Skyrim and beautiful in any way, it can be found at the base of the statue. Sometimes alchemists visit and carefully cut away a few of the best specimens for use in their potions, but they never take too much. They feel that it would be a dishonour to do so.

Some people leave gifts there, too. Offerings. Sometimes a hunter, returning home triumphantly with a large catch, might stop beside the statue and place a rabbit or a sliver of meat on the grey stone base. It's surprising what can be found there. Pieces of jewellery, food, trinkets that appear worthless but probably meant a lot to whoever left them there. The people in whose honour the statue was built would prefer that they didn't do it, and they've made it known, but the people of Skyrim leave the gifts there all the same. They aren't so much offerings as thank-you presents. No matter what is given, no matter who it is given by, the message is the same. _Thank you. Thank you so much for giving everything you have to keep us safe._

After they realised that nothing they said would stop people from leaving the gifts, the people the gifts are left for sent out a new message. 'Put things beside the statue if you wish to,' they said, 'and anyone who likes can take them. People who need more food or clothes can take whatever they want from the statue. If you want to thank us, then that is how you can do it. By caring for others.'

It's not uncommon to see a hunched figure in ragged clothes approaching the statue, just one of the many citizens of Skyrim who can't support themselves or their families. Sometimes they will have walked days, clinging to the slim hope that there will be something, _anything, _beside those stone figures. And often, there is something, something that might just save lives.

Crying from gratitude, that citizen will pick up whatever it is they've found, clutch it close to them, and look up at the statue. They will gaze upon it for a long time, and four faces will stare back.

Gazing towards the south, towards the distant land from whence she came, is a Khajiit woman. Her stone eyes are intent and focused, her carved face thoughtful, looking out across the plains with an almost wistful expression. In her right hand she holds a bow, a sleek and elegantly curved weapon, and its tip is resting on the statue's stone base. A quiver of delicately sculpted arrows is slung over her shoulder, and she is clad in armour made from the scales of dragons. Her right ear has a tiny v-shaped notch cut into it, and the thin line of a scar slices through her left eyebrow.

Standing at her shoulder, his gaze turned to the eastern sky, is an Argonian man. He is tall and powerfully built, dressed in armour similar to hers, standing with a sword clasped in one hand and a bow in the other. His neatly carved horns curl around the sides of his head, and there is a small smile on his face. The Khajiit woman's slender tail is twined around his thick, rudderlike one. An observer with a keen eye might notice that the two wear identical rings upon their fingers.

Facing the west is another male Argonian. His face is more youthful than that of his kinsman and his expression, though determined, is somewhat nervous. Unlike his stone companions, he wears no armour. Instead, he is dressed in the robes of a mage, and they almost appear to be billowing in the wind. His right hand holds a destruction staff, and his left hand is outstretched, as if he is heartbeats away from sending a spell burning through the air. A line of feathers stretches down the back of his neck, and his horns point backwards with only a slight curve to them.

The final figure stands with her eyes gazing out over the mountains and wilderness to the north. She is a Khajiit too, and almost identical to the other. They are of similar heights and builds, they wear the same armour, they carry the same weapon. Even the patterns of stripes on their faces are not all that different. This Khajiit, however, is not resting on her bow, but standing with it loaded and ready to fire. Her face is young and not marred by any scars. She is grinning, a wide, confident smile, and her eyes, though they are stone, have an undeniable brightness to them.

And on the pedestal upon which they stand, there are words.

On the side that faces south, along with the first of the two Khajiit, a name is written. In fact, it is written twice – once in the jagged grooves and scratches of the dragon alphabet, and once again beneath that in the neat curves and lines of the letters used by mortal folk. That name is _J'shana._

And beneath that name is the following inscription:

_4E182 – 4E269_

_Last of the Tygra tribe_

_First of the Khajiit Dragonborns_

_In this place in the year 4E201, J'shana of Elsweyr slew the dragon Mirmulnir and so discovered that she was Dragonborn. In the face of great adversity she risked her life to battle and defeat Alduin in Sovngarde. For centuries, her name and her legacy were forgotten. Now she is remembered once again as she should be, and she shall be honoured by the folk of Skyrim forever more. _

And beneath that, a single sentence in Draconic:

_Pah los gein._

On the eastern side, beneath the Argonian with the ram-like horns, there is more writing. The name inscribed in the stone is _Derkeethus, _and beneath it are the words:

_4E177 – 4E266_

_A brave warrior who left behind his home and his safety in order to aid J'shana in her quest to vanquish Alduin. When they were together, no foes could overcome them, and their love was strong enough to withstand all trials they faced in both life and in death. His name shall be honoured until the end of time._

Written below the second Khajiit is another name, and another date. The name is _A'jira, _and the date of birth is 4E685. There is no date of death, because A'jira is still alive, and the people of Skyrim all hope that it will be many, many years before they need to carve a second date into the stone. The writing continues:

_Second of the Khajiit Dragonborns_

_When Alduin the World-Eater returned, it was to a land where the dragons were a myth, the Dragonborn a story, and the truth a forgotten memory. With nothing but the ancient legends to guide her, A'jira of the Tygra kin stood against the first-born of Akatosh, completing the quest of her ancestor and finishing the battle that J'shana began. She brought back the truth to a world living a lie. She was the eye that saw in the night when all other mortals were blind. She is and always shall be the saviour of Skyrim, of Tamriel, of all Nirn._

And finally, beneath the young Argonian mage:

_Zaran-Ra_

_4E684 –_

_An Argonian whose courage is matched only by his wisdom. A powerful mage and a loyal friend, who stood and fought beside A'jira as she embarked on the path that led her to her destiny. He helped to lead the great battle of Sovngarde, and without him, Alduin would have been victorious. The people of Tamriel owe him their freedom and their lives._

Every word that has been carved into the statue's base is true. But it is not enough. No words could ever be enough to describe just how much these four heroes have done for Skyrim, how much they are honoured and loved by the folk of that country, how much they sacrificed for the sake of their fellow mortals.

Every child of Skyrim knows the story now. Five hundred years ago, dragons returned to the skies of Tamriel. None could stand against them – except for a young Khajiit woman named J'shana, the Dragonborn, and her devoted friend Derkeethus, who was later to become her husband. J'shana, the tales say, defeated Alduin in the mists of Sovngarde, and Skyrim returned to peace. For a time.

After her death, the stories about J'shana of the Tygra tribe became garbled. And from being garbled, they became forgotten, and even hated. Many of the Nords of Skyrim started to resent having been saved by a Khajiit and an Argonian. The Greybeards, J'shana's wise mentors, tried everything in their power to make people remember the truth, but High Hrothgar was sacked and every one of them was killed, the Way of the Voice lost seemingly forever. Soon it was widely believed that the Dragonborn was a Nord warrior, and the name of J'shana slipped from history, lost and unremembered – except by a few.

The dragons of Tamriel have long memories. Many were J'shana's enemies, but many were her friends, for they swore allegiance to her after Alduin fell. Two, in particular, vowed to preserve the truth – her protector, the fearsome blood-red warrior dragon named Odahviing, and her mentor, the ancient, infinitely wise leader of the Greybeards, Paarthurnax. They knew that one day, the time would come for the truth to become known again. And dragons are patient. Dragons know how to wait. And so, in hiding and in secret, they and all their kin waited. And watched.

They watched as the segregation between races also grew worse – with Khajiit no longer being allowed within the walls of cities, whether or not they were in trading caravans, and being forbidden to marry Nords within some Holds. They watched as many dragons, too, forgot the oath they had sworn to the _Dovahkiin _and returned to their old, feral ways. They watched the years passed, as the hearts of the folk of Skyrim grew as cold and hard as the mountains that surrounded them.

They watched, patient and calm, because they knew that soon the time would come.

Because they had learned a terrible truth.

Alduin had not been destroyed. J'shana had defeated him soundly, but she had not absorbed his soul. His will to survive had been enough to preserve his existence. He had existed for many years, trapped between the worlds of the living and the dead, until he learned how to implant his soul into the bodies of mortals. He consumed them quickly, for they were far, far too weak to sustain him for long, but he was able to survive, flitting from mortal to mortal, and it would not be long before he would regain the strength to return.

When it happened, they did not see, because they were not watching. They never suspected that mere mortals would be able to bring Alduin back. They never dreamed that mortals would ever _want _to bring Alduin back.

And yet bring him back they did.

But Paarthurnax and Odahviing were not afraid. They knew that Alduin would not be unchallenged. For five hundred years they had watched the descendants of J'shana, with protecting them as best as he could. And they had known the truth about the last of that bloodline from the moment she was born. They saw straight away that the dragon blood was strong in A'jira Tygra. They knew that she was _Dovahkiin._

And when Alduin returned, she was ready. She was only sixteen years of age, but she was strong and she was spirited. She faced her destiny when it was revealed to her, and she hunted down Alduin without hesitation, without fear. And when the time came, she destroyed him completely, taking his soul into her own and vanquishing him forever.

Half of the dragons of Skyrim, those who had followed and idolised Alduin, fled in confusion and fear. They had believed that their leader was immortal, undefeatable, eternal – and now a teenage Khajiit girl had defeated him. There were a few, the bravest, who attacked openly, but many were killed, and the rest scattered and hid. As for the others, those who had learned how to conquer their inner demons, breathed a sigh of relief. Alduin was gone. They were free at last to choose their own paths.

And some of them chose the path that the new Dragonborn offered to them.

Even without Alduin, A'jira knew well, Skyrim was still under threat. Some of the dragons, the ones who had been the World Eater's followers and soldiers, would continue to prey on mortals. And so she and her companion, the Argonian mage Zaran-Ra, created a new order. An order of warriors, both mortals and dragons, who would always be ready to protect the residents of Skyrim in their hour of need.

They called them the Dragonhearts.

This is why so many people leave gifts at the foot of the statue. Because the Dragonhearts have been there to protect them, time and time again. The farmer who places a sheath of wheat amongst the mountain flowers and the tundra grass does so remembering how, just as he thought that gang of bandits was about to burn down his home, slaughter him and his livestock and carry away his wife and daughter, a pair of dragons, both with riders astride them, swooped down from the sky and sent the brigands running for their lives. The hunter who leaves one of his rabbits there leaves it out of gratitude to the Altmer man and his steel-and-silver coloured dragon who chased away the giant that almost killed him a week ago. The simple peasant woman who drops a couple of gold coins at A'jira's stone feet sacrifices part of her tiny wealth just because she knows that without the work of the Dragonhearts, she and her family might well not be alive.

But safeguarding the peace and the people of Skyrim is not the only thing that the Dragonhearts have done.

When a Khajiit Dragonborn fought Alduin for the first time, it was in a world that was too ignorant to accept what was true. That was why J'shana's name became forgotten. But many years have passed since then. Thanks to the work of A'jira and Zaran-Ra, Skyrim is no longer so divided by prejudice as it once was. Khajiit may enter cities. Altmer are no longer spat at in fury for the crimes committed by the Thalmor in years gone by. It is becoming rarer and rarer to hear a Dunmer called _greyskin. _

The Dragonborns and the Dragonhearts have not only saved Skyrim. They have changed it.

And that is why a statue stands in the middle of the plains of Whiterun hold. So that this might never be forgotten. The truth is a great gift, and it is one we must treasure. Never again must mortalkind throw away that gift.

Stone does not last forever. One day, that statue will fall, toppled by weather and by time. But with luck, the memory of those four heroes will remain.

But, if you were to ask me… I believe that there is a fifth warrior who should be added to that statue. Or perhaps she should have one of her own built.

For she, too, is a hero. She, too, has gone up against a terrible foe and emerged victorious. She, too, did so knowing that it might cost her her life.

And she did so not because it was her destiny, or because the Gods demanded it, but because she chose to. Because she knew it was right. Because she was brave.

She may have the Dragon Blood flowing within her veins, but she is not and never has been Dragonborn. And, in my mind, that makes her a truly great hero. Her fate did not chose her – she chose it.

I may not have the wisdom of my teacher, Paarthurnax, but as the sworn protector of the Tygra kin, their tale is one I know well. It is a tale of heroes and of tyrants, of good and evil, of mortals and dragons. Is the tale of a young warrior, whose inner dragon was powerful and whose heart was true. It is the tale of a lone wanderer on a quest for vengeance. It is the tale of a _dovah _with a great and burdening duty. It is the tale of the Dragonhearts.

Come closer, my brothers and sisters_. _All of you, elf, man, beast and _dovah _alike. Listen well to this tale – the tale of how ordinary mortals almost brought the world to an end, and how ordinary mortals saved it.

Ordinary mortals – whose hearts were those of dragons.


	2. Beneath Dark Moons

**Here's Chapter One! You may be a little confused as to what's happening towards the end, but everything will be explained in later chapters.**

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CHAPTER ONE – BENEATH DARK MOONS

The scar that sliced across Veldarion's left cheek, narrowly missing his eye and cutting a neat diagonal line through his chin, was a constant reminder to him that sacrifices often had to be made for the sake of power.

He had made sacrifices. So, so many. He had sacrificed wealth. He had sacrificed any chance he had ever had of having a safe home and a normal life. He had sacrificed so many opportunities that had been offered to him. He had sacrificed his kin. And, more times than he cared to count, he had sacrificed his own blood.

But he was proud of those sacrifices. He treasured the memory of every one. The scar was always there to remind him of them, and he was glad. It meant he could never forget them. And if he had not forgotten them, he could learn from them.

And it had all led to this. Everything he had given up, everything he had surrendered, everything he had lost – it had all led up to this night. He knew it deep within his soul, knew it beyond any doubt. He had waited so long for this, dreamed about it since he was barely old enough to walk. And now, at last, all his work, all his planning, all his sacrifices, would start to mean something.

It was almost time. It was so painfully almost time.

The Altmer breathed in deeply, feeling the cold night air chill his lungs. Somewhere, out of sight among the rocks and the tundra grass, a wolf let out an eerie, mournful howl. Another voice joined it, and then another and another. A smile spread across Veldarion's face as his gaze travelled to the empty sky above them. Thick black clouds hid the stars from view, and both moons were dark. It could not be a more perfect night for what he was planning. The darkness didn't affect anything, of course, but he couldn't help loving the atmosphere.

For a moment, his smile wavered. His brother would have laughed at that, if he'd been there.

Veldarion suddenly made the mistake of letting him hold on to that thought for more than a second, and instantly regretted it. That was the one sacrifice he wanted to forget, the one he wished he had never made.

He let himself think about it, just for a few heartbeats. He thought about the red eyes that smouldered like coals and the talons that sliced through flesh and bone as if it were water and the sound of a roar that made the earth shake. He thought about the sudden, searing agony of his face being torn open, and the sound of the heavy thump as he was hurled to the ground. He thought about running, running as fast and as far as his legs could carry him, until at last he collapsed to lie amongst a clump of snowberry bushes. And he thought about stumbling back to the place where the nightmare had happened, and finding nothing but bloodstains and corpses…

He shook his head angrily, banishing the memories from his mind. That was another thing his scar made him remember – that you had to be careful exactly how much you risked, and how much you sacrificed.

But he wasn't going to make any of those mistakes tonight. He had been too eager the night his brother had died. Too willing to risk everything. This time, he was prepared. He had practised. He had been able to practise, which was more than could be said for the last time he'd attempted something like this. And now, at last, it was almost time.

The courier's message had reached him at noon. The man had arrived at the Barrow breathing hard, apologising again and again for how long he had taken to deliver the message, blathering about how he'd had trouble finding the location. Veldarion had found it a strain not to unleash a storm atronach on the idiotic Nord there and then and tell him that was the entire point of having a secret base as he was scorched to death, but he had restrained himself long enough for the man to hand over the slip of parchment he had been sent to deliver.

_Then _Veldarion unleashed a storm atronach on him.

He had sat back on a rock, listening to the Nord scream and beg as the atronach's spells tore into him, and unfolded the letter. It had been a simple message, consisting of a single sentence, written in dark red letters. Veldarion had smiled upon seeing it – it didn't surprise him that Drethin had forgotten to take any ink with him, and it definitely didn't surprise him that he'd decided to use blood as an alternative. Wondering vaguely about whose blood had been used, Veldarion had read the sentence.

_We have one and are returning it to you as fast as we can._

Veldarion had stared at the crimson letters for a moment, then his hand had closed around the parchment, crushing it into a tight ball. A laugh had escaped him – a high-pitched, almost manic laugh of glee and triumph.

It was the last thing the courier had ever heard.

Night had fallen since Veldarion had received that message, and he had not moved from that spot. As the other inhabitants of Icefall Barrow had begun their evening meal, Bharadi had tentatively approached Veldarion and asked him if he wanted to come inside and eat, or have them bring food out to him. He'd chosen the latter. He wasn't leaving this place, he decided, until he saw Drethin and the others returning with their prize.

Three hours had passed since sunset when he saw them. At first nothing but a dark blot on the horizon, which slowly became large and split into four separate shapes. Three mortals and a horse.

In the lead walked a Dunmer man, his skin very dark grey, and his eyes the colour of blood. Around his brow was a band of iron, tied in place by a piece of string, which kept his ebony-coloured hair away from his face. Following behind him, holding the horse's reins, was an Orc woman with moss-green skin, and a face streaked with white warpaint – a line travelling from her forehead to the tip of her nose, a thick dash above each eye, and a thinner stripe below. At the rear came a Breton, brown haired and grey-eyed, with a plain, forgettable face. A flame atronach trailed a few paces behind him, leaving a trail of embers and ash. All three mortals were clad in the same black robes that Veldarion wore.

'Drethin. Lurag. Auguste.' As they reached him and drew to a halt, Veldarion nodded towards the Dunmer, the Orc and the Breton in turn. 'You took your time.'

Drethin let out a thin chuckle. 'We decided we'd have to stop in Whiterun and find a crate and a horse to transport the cargo more easily,' he explained. 'And you know me; it took me ages to find a horse I liked.'

Lurag let out a huff, rolling her stony grey eyes. 'It had to be the fastest and the best for him,' she growled. 'No matter that we weren't even going to be riding the damned beast.'

'Do you have it?' Veldarion didn't have time to stand around engaging in a discussion about horses. There was only one thing he was interested in.

Auguste rubbed his hands together, seemingly both from anticipation and from trying to warm them up. 'Have a look in the crate.'

His heart pounding, Veldarion raced over to stand beside the horse. It _was _a fine creature, glossy black and as strong-looking as an ox, but at that particular moment, Veldarion would have found it difficult to care less. His eyes, and his attention, were fixed on the wooden crate tied to its back.

He found that his fingers were trembling as they wrenched his dagger from his belt, and he had to pause for a moment in order to try and compose himself before he started slicing through the ropes. They came apart easily under the blade, and Veldarion reached up to grasp the crate. It shook violently, and for an awful moment Veldarion thought it might fall. To his relief, Lurag dashed around the horse and grasped the other end, steadying it in the nick of time.

'You want to be careful with that thing,' Drethin warned. 'It's a vicious little _s'wit_. Tore three of the sacks we tried putting it in to shreds, even after we tied it up. That's why we stopped to find a crate. And don't get me started on the trouble we had catching it.'

'Good,' Veldarion said softly. 'The fiercer it is, the better.'

Hardly daring to breathe, he cut through the cord that held the crate shut, and lifted the lid.

For a moment, he could see nothing except for a swathe of blackness with a darker patch huddled in the centre. He strained his eyes for a moment, then lifted one hand and sent a Candlelight spell shooting upwards into the air to hover above his head. Bluish-white light flooded the scene, and Veldarion finally saw it. His breath caught in his throat.

Hunched inside the wooden box, its head lying limply on the bottom and its eyes tightly shut, was a creature. If it had been standing, it would have been about the height of a large war-dog. Its entire body was covered with grey scales, some the dark colour of iron, others, such as the ones on its underside, as pale as ash. It had two legs, ending in feet like a hawk's, except that the toes were far thicker, and the talons far sharper. Its tail, curled around the side of its body, as if the creature was trying to shield itself, was strong and bulky, and it ended in a bony plate the shape of an arrowhead. Where most animals would have had forelegs were two leathery, bat-like wings, and half tucked underneath one of them was a lizardlike head, with two horns shaped like bolts of lightning, and a few teeth as deadly looking as daggers protruding slightly from under its scaly lips.

Though many of the people of Skyrim would have recognised it, hardly any would have ever seen one before. Fewer still would be aware of the fact that such creatures even existed. There were so many, Veldarion knew, who could look at this animal and have its name spring into their mind, and yet would not be able to believe what they were seeing.

But he knew that his eyes were not deceiving him. And he knew what this beast was.

It was a dragon hatchling.

Everything was silent now. The howling of the wolves had long since faded away, and even the wind was still.

Slowly, carefully, his hand beginning to tremble again, Veldarion gave the hatchling a small poke in the side with the tip of his dagger.

Instantly, the beast's eyes snapped open. They were bright purple-grey with slits of ebony black, and so fierce that Veldarion hurriedly withdrew his hand from the crate. A second look told him that he needn't have worried. For one thing, he had not hurt the young dragon – his dagger had not even made a mark on the steely scales. And for a second, the hatchling could not move. Its wings were strapped tightly to its body, its feet were bound together, and leather strips were tied firmly around its mouth. Of all its natural weapons, it would only be able to use its barbed tail once it was out of the box and free to move it. Veldarion knew, though, from bitter experience, that a dragon's tail was just as dangerous as its claws and its flame. Subconsciously, he lifted his hand to his face and traced his scar with the tip of one finger.

Veldarion rose to his feet, but did not remove his eyes from the hatchling. 'A _strun-dovah,' _he breathed. 'A storm dragon. Who found it?'

'Drethin did,' Auguste said from behind him. 'He came across the lair. Lurag and I lured the parents away while he grabbed the cub.'

'Hatchling,' Veldarion corrected him, but more out of instinct than annoyance. He turned away from the dragon at last to look at Drethin. 'You've done well,' he announced, then glanced at Lurag and Auguste. 'All of you. I'll make sure you're rewarded.'

He nodded towards the box. 'Drethin, Lurag, take him and put him on the trapdoor,' he ordered. 'Auguste, gather the others. And tell them to bring the other two.'

Drethin's scarlet eyes gleamed with excitement. 'We're doing it tonight?'

Veldarion dipped his head. 'We're doing it tonight,' he confirmed.

The Dunmer grinned savagely, picked up the lid of the crate and slammed it down. Veldarion heard a faint whimper from within the box, but he ignored it. The hatchling had a right to be afraid. But soon, wonderful things would happen to it. It was about to meet the greatest fate any dragon could ever have wished for.

Drethin and Lurag picked up the crate and jogged away over the plains. Veldarion hoped they would be able to find the trapdoor in the dark without falling into it. He hadn't shut it after he'd been practising with it earlier.

He stayed there for a while, gazing at the black night. He wanted to remember it in every detail. This was the night when everything would begin, and he did not want to forget it.

Again, he raised his hand and ran a fingertip along his scar. Then he turned and followed Auguste into their home.

Icefall Barrow was a Nordic tomb, but not as large or as grand as most. It had been built to house the remains of a group of twenty Nord warriors who had fallen during the first great Dragon War. Veldarion found their story somewhat amusing. They had, according to the carvings on the barrow walls, attempted to defeat a powerful dragon that had been threatening the nearby farms. Apparently one of them had come up with the wonderful idea of chasing the inhabitants of a nearby giant camp towards the dragon, and allowing the mammoths and giants to complete the job for them. Unfortunately they had found it harder than anticipated to stir the giants, and the ensuing chaos resulted in all but two of them being either crushed by the mammoths or sent flying by the giants' clubs.

As such, the entombed warriors of Icefall Barrow had not been given much splendour to rest in. As with most Nordic ruins, the entrance lay in a small stone-lined crater dug into the tundra, reached by a staircase that had been made of wood that had long since rotted by the time Veldarion had made the place his home. He'd been forced to repair it, but he hadn't bothered repairing the door. He'd simply yanked it off its rusted hinges and placed a fire rune on the doorstep. Any friend would remember to trigger it from a safe distance and replace it before they went inside. Any foe would soon know of their mistake, and their screams would alert anyone inside.

And if they were a friend who happened to forget about the rune, then serve them right. If they survived, they'd know better next time.

Veldarion let the others take the lead through the doorway. As the last one through, he recast the fire rune as he stepped inside; then thought for a moment and cast a frost and a lightning rune beside it. He didn't want to be disturbed tonight.

The door led to a small stairway, which opened out into a corridor. Turning left, as August did now, led to where a circular room where one half of the dead Nords of yore had been laid to rest, which was now where Veldarion and his company slept. Turning right led to a room identical in its design, which was the resting place of the other half of the long-dead warrior band, and where the group of mages kept their alchemy laboratory and arcane enchanter. A small side door near the bedchamber led to a second stairway and a circular room that had once been filled with offerings left for the dead Nords, which now doubled as both the mages' storeroom and 'sit-around-and-chat-room,' as Auguste had named it.

The final room of the Barrow, where Veldarion was now headed, was what he and his followers had started to call the spellchamber. It seemed that one of the Nords had been the son of a wealthy and influential man, a Jarl or Thane perhaps. He had been buried apart from his comrades, in a far larger room with a high arched ceiling. It was wide and circular, with carvings coating the walls, and the warrior's tomb raised on a pedestal in the centre. At least, it had been on a pedestal – Veldarion had long since ordered his frost atronachs to destroy the metal coffin. It got in the way when practising spells – for that was what this room was now used for.

Above the place where the coffin had once stood, there was a large, perfectly round hole in the roof. Looking up through it treated Veldarion to a view of the jet-black sky. He guessed that the warrior's family had wanted to be able to shine daylight down onto their kinsman's coffin, and that was why they had built a metal grate into the ceiling. A simple tug of a lever was all it took to open and close it.

This was why Veldarion was here, why he was conducting his experiments in this small, insignificant tomb. That trapdoor and the long fall down to the stone floor of the spellchamber below was what made Icefall Barrow the perfect place for him to carry out his work.

A rustle of robes sounded from behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see two robed figures emerge from the passageway to stand in the weak, thin light. Only a heartbeat later, a shout sounded from above him, and Drethin and Lurag's heads appeared over the edge of the trapdoor, with two more, those of a Khajiit and a Nord, appearing seconds afterwards.

Veldarion smiled. They were all assembled. His followers, his comrades, his friends. Other, more foolish mortals who sought after power treated those who assisted them with about as much kindness as a wolf treats a deer. But Veldarion knew that if he wished these people to stand by him, risk their lives for him, and serve him, there must be no ill feelings between any of them. He had hand-picked these people, chosen them carefully, and he was proud of them. He would have shed no tears if any had been killed, but he would have cared. They were no ordinary band of necromancers. They were devoted. They were clever. They were the Bloodcallers.

That was the name that Veldarion had chosen for them when he had founded them a hundred years ago. He was the only one of this group who had been there on the day of their creation. The others – and he remembered the names and the faces of them all – had all fallen over the years, succumbing one by one to battle or to sickness or simply to age. There had been elves, of course, for whom aging was not as much of an issue as it was for the others, but they had all been slain that fateful night twenty years ago.

Veldarion had been forced to rebuild his clan. Even after all these years, they were still few in number. But Veldarion only took the best. The most ruthless, the most powerful, and the most loyal were the only mortals he would allow to work alongside him.

He turned his head from side to side, his eyes drifting over each one. Drethin, the closest thing he had to a second in command, a Dark Elf who was nowhere near Veldarion's standard when it came to Conjuration magic, but who no one in the Bloodcallers could match at Destruction. Lurag gra-Dushnikh, an Orc whose practise of necromancy had led to her being banished from her home stronghold. Torndir, a Nord man who had an uncanny talent for enchanting weapons and capturing souls, and his younger sister Morri, who was not only a powerful necromancer but an expert at Restoration. Auguste, a Breton who freely admitted that the name he went by was not his birth name, and who was fascinated by atronachs, almost always accompanied by one. And finally, the youngest – Bharadi, a Khajiit who was only just an adult, yet had skill in Illusion to put others three times her age to shame.

Seven mages from every corner of Tamriel. Seven different mortals with nothing whatsoever in common except for their talent for magic and their will to achieve power.

'It's time,' Veldarion told them, and though his voice was soft, it echoed around the chamber until a thousand whispering ghost-voices were hissing the words. _It's time. It's time. It's time…_

'Drethin and Bharadi, I want you down here,' Veldarion called. 'Lurag, Torndir, you're to stay up there with the hatchlings. You know what you have to do.'

The Dunmer and the Khajiit's faces vanished from the trapdoor. Veldarion continued speaking with his head tilted backwards. 'Summon atronachs to make sure they don't try escaping, then cut the cords on their wings. Leave the rest of their bindings. If any of them get away, you'll be responsible for tracking them down, and you won't be coming back here until you have them.'

He turned to face the others who stood with him in the spellchamber. 'I don't think I need to remind you that if this fails, we'll have to search all of Skyrim again to find young dragons. None of us wants that. We have to get this right.'

'We've already tried twice, and we failed,' Auguste muttered. 'Why should things be different now?'

If it had been any of the others, Veldarion would have been infuriated, but he knew that Auguste liked to argue simply for the sake of being contrary. 'We made mistakes the previous times,' Veldarion told him patiently. 'I was expecting us to. Only through failure can we learn about some things. Now we know everything we need. And all of us know our own duties. Take your places.'

Morri and Auguste moved outward, until they and Veldarion were standing at the points of a triangle, with the remains of the tomb in the centre. Bharadi and Drethin entered moments later, breathing hard from running through the tomb, and turned the triangle into a pentagon.

'Time to begin,' Veldarion announced. 'Lurag, Torndir; hurt and goad those hatchlings, but don't get carried away. I don't want them to have any marks on them, understand?' He didn't give them time to reply. 'Torndir, when they look like they're on the brink of flight, you're to hit the trapdoor with your dagger three times, as hard as you can. Bharadi, that's your cue to pull the lever and open the trapdoor. We all know what to do once they've fallen through.'

'And if they don't fly in time?' Auguste demanded. 'Or if only one does and the others fall and break their necks?'

'Then we try again,' Veldarion snapped, rounding on the Breton. 'And we keep trying until we've succeeded!'

There was a sudden, deep silence that fell quickly and lingered awkwardly for a few seconds. Then Auguste's face broke into a grin. 'Good.'

Laughter, slightly muted by nervousness, but still laughter, rang out in the freezing air. Veldarion chuckled along with his friends before lifting his hands. Icy blue wafts of light began to weave around his palms, two small specks of brightness in the dark. Then two more appeared as Drethin charged up his own spells, followed by Morri and then by Auguste. Bharadi took a step backwards, breaking the circle, to stand beside the trapdoor lever.

'Close the door,' Veldarion told her.

He heard the Khajiit's sharp intake of breath as she threw her weight against it. There was a creak of ancient metal, and then the light from the roof of the cavern was abruptly blocked out as the trapdoor swung shut.

There was silence again for a moment; then there was a distant crackling sound. Human ears would never have been able to hear it through the metal grate above them, but Veldarion heard it, and recognised it. It was the sound of a lightning spell being cast, and it was followed by a muffled howl, and a series of thuds.

Veldarion had set out his plan carefully. If Lurag and Torndir, the strongest of the group, caused enough pain to the three young dragons that the Bloodcallers had captured over the last few months, then everything should transpire as he intended. Unable to Shout, or use their jaws and feet as weapons, the hatchlings had only one logical option if they wanted to escape their tormentors. Their wings had been cut free, and Veldarion knew that now, for the first time in their short lives, the hatchlings would be flapping them furiously, desperately trying to leap into the air and soar away from these cruel mortals whose spells burned at them. And when they flew, it would happen. The moment that Veldarion was waiting for, the moment that the dragons called _silforvon. _

And if fate was on their side, and the three hatchlings, or even just two (although three would of course be preferable) reached _silforvon _at the same time, then Veldarion and the Bloodcallers would be able to create…

The truth was, Veldarion did not quite know what they would create. He knew what he thought they would create. He knew what he hoped they would create. But even now, after all the previous tries and the experiments and the weeks spent poring over ages-old tomes, there was no way to be sure.

'Be ready,' he told the others, and he saw their spells grow stronger and brighter in their hands.

And then, a new sound rang out, above the scuffling and thumping from up above. The cold, clear clang of metal on metal. And then it sounded again. And a third time.

The signal.

Veldarion's head snapped around to face Bharadi, the order forming on his lips. But there was no need to say it. Bharadi was already wrenching at the lever. The instant it came down, she shot back into her place in the circle, leaping in between Drethin and Morri just as the two halves of the trapdoor separated and swung downwards.

High above them, the hole in the roof of Icefall Barrow was opened once again. The clouds parted, and a few glimmers of starlight brightened the stone. For a moment, the world seemed frozen in time.

And then they fell. The three dragon hatchlings, mouths and legs bound but wings free, came tumbling through what had been solid ground moments earlier but was now empty space. They had already been trying to fly; now, with a long, long drop beneath them, they had no choice. If they wanted to save themselves, they had to take to the air.

For half a heartbeat, Veldarion saw them falling, struggling desperately against their own weight as it dragged them down. One was the grey storm dragon that Drethin had brought to the Barrow that night. The second, the smallest, had the silvery white scales and vast black spines of a Frost Dragon. And lastly, there was an Ancient Dragon of the fire-breathing variety. Veldarion had captured this one with his own hands. Its parents had been nowhere in sight, and it had defended itself ferociously, only finally succumbing when Veldarion had two frost atronachs pinning it down.

It didn't surprise Veldarion that this dragon was the first to stop falling. It seemed it had only just appeared through the hole in the roof when its wings opened, filled with air, and held it up.

The storm dragon was next, suddenly transforming from an ungainly bundle of desperately thrashing limbs to a graceful, deadly-looking predator as its fall became a flight. And finally the frost dragon, its wings lifting it upwards just as it was inches away from crashing into the floor.

The three dragons hung in the air for a moment.

And then they began to glow.

'_Now!' _Veldarion roared, and as one, the Bloodcallers cast their spells. Even Lurag and Torndir threw themselves flat on their chests and thrust their arms down through the ceiling. A wave of blue energy, like that of a ward spell, shot forwards from each of the mages' hands. Though his gaze was fixed on the hatchlings, Veldarion could see his spell travelling outwards from the corner of his eyes, colliding with those cast by Auguste on his left and Drethin on his right, and joining with them, forming a wall of light. Within three seconds, the hatchlings were enclosed within a ball of magic, one they could not break through.

But they did not throw themselves against the sides, or try to escape. Veldarion wasn't sure they even realised they had been trapped.

They were still glowing. Brighter and brighter still, until they were almost blinding to look at. The time for their _silforvon _had come. But it would never be completed.

Veldarion breathed in deeply. This was the point where they had failed before. But not this time. This time, things would be different. This time, they would succeed.

He released his spell, and around the spellchamber, he saw the others do the same. The walls of energy closed in on the three shining dragons, ramming them together. Now instead of three balls of light, there was only one, with three dark shapes writhing at its core.

For Veldarion, the rest of the world dropped away. He no longer saw the determined, grimacing faces of his friends, or the stone walls of the Barrow, or the distant sky above him. All he saw was the light hovering in the centre of the chamber, pulsing, thrashing, growing stronger and larger with every passing second.

And now everything he had read, everything he had worked out and everything he had planned was running through his mind. The other Bloodcallers were keeping the dragons contained, but Veldarion was casting spell after spell, shooting a different beam of energy towards the dragons every second. And within the glowing orb, he could see the dark shapes changing, growing larger and merging together, and the light was growing brighter and brighter and brighter –

And then it glowed as fiercely as the sun before slamming outwards in a burst of pure power, sweeping Bharadi and Drethin of their feet and almost doing the same to all the others. Veldarion stumbled and just about managed to right himself. For a terrible second, he thought he had been blinded, for all he could see was blackness. Then he realised that he could make out shapes stirring in front of him – after all the light, the sudden dark had come as a surprise.

As Drethin and Bharadi scrambled to their feet, and Auguste, Lurag, Torndir and Morri lowered their hands, Veldarion stared into the gloom. Something stirred there – something huge and dark, something that moved with a scrape of claws and a clanking of scales.

Without warning, a roar ripped through the air, making Bharadi cry out in shock and Auguste take a startled step backwards. But Veldarion stood motionless, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open in amazement.

And suddenly the roar became a word, a name, shrieked to the sky in a voice like thunder. _'Qoyoliiz!'_

As the sound died away, Veldarion raised his hand. A candlelight spell glimmered into being. And in its light, the High Elf saw his creation.

'Qoyoliiz,' he breathed, taking a step forwards.

Three heads snapped around to face him. Three pairs of eyes – yellow, greyish purple and ice blue, gleamed in the darkness.

But only one tail thumped upon the stone floor. Only two feet took a shuffling pace towards him.

And yet three voices spoke together.

'_Zu'u los Qoyoliiz.'_

'Yes.' Veldarion's heart was racing so fast that he was finding it hard to focus. 'Yes. You are Qoyoliiz. _Lightning fire ice. _Qoyoliiz.'

The other Bloodcallers shrank back as Veldarion walked forwards, carefully and deliberately, until he and his creation stood facing each other in the centre of the spellchamber, starlight gleaming on glittering scales and ebony-coloured robes.

The three heads slowly dipped downwards.

'_Wahliik,' _Qoyliiz growled. '_In.'_

Veldarion forgot how to breathe.

_Creator, _Qoyoliiz had said. _Master._

The Altmer turned around, taking in the faces of his friends. He read the emotions on them – awe, fear, disbelief.

And he knew that all his sacrifices had not been for nothing.

'Tell me, Bloodcallers,' he whispered, his voice trembling. 'Tell me if we do not command true power now.'

* * *

**All the characters in this chapter are my OCs. The Storm Dragons are an idea ShoutFinder very kindly let me borrow. **

**So, what are your thoughts on Veldarion, the Bloodcallers, and their creation? And what are your thoughts on this chapter? Please let me know!**

**Thanks for reading. :)**


	3. Kin Of The Sky

**Thanks to everyone who's read the story so far! Here's chapter two, and at last, it's time to meet the main character, and be introduced to the Dragonhearts. **

* * *

CHAPTER TWO – KIN OF THE SKY

Two steel swords sliced through the air, the sunlight flaring off the polished blades. With a whirr of wind, they swept over the Khajiit girl's head, very nearly clipping a few tufts of black fur from the tips of her ears. She let out a snarl and sprang backwards, her feet sinking into thick white snow. She stood lightly, lashing her tail back and forth, her fingers clenched around the hilt of her own blade, waiting for her opponent's next move. Her eyes scoured his face, waiting for the slightest sign that would tell her that he was about to move. The tiniest blink or intake of breath would betray him.

She saw his gaze drop towards her hand, and a second later his swords were plunging towards the fist that held her blade. Had she not anticipated the move and twisted aside at the last possible moment, he would have disarmed her easily. But his weapons missed her, cutting harmlessly through air and snow, and the Khajiit took advantage of the opening to lash out towards his neck. He saw the blow coming and reeled backwards, his crimson eyes widening a little.

The Khajiit breathed in deeply, summoning her training to the forefront of her mind. Time and time again she had been told to let no opportunity be wasted. Right now, the Dunmer man was off balance, exposed. She would have no better chance than this. She took a step forwards and punched her blade towards his chest. But again he moved too quickly, recovering just in time to block her strike and knock her weapon aside. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his second sword swinging down towards her and turned her head, ready to lift up her weapon and parry.

Then something hit her legs with enough force to make her stumble backwards, stretching out her tail behind her to give her balance. But at the same moment she was trying to duck under the blow she now had no time to block, and a second kick was all it took to knock her down onto her back. The Dark Elf's blades cut down neatly, flicking her sword out of her hand, and placed his weapons against her neck. The Khajiit's eyes squeezed shut as she felt the cold metal push through her fur and touch the soft skin underneath. She knew what was coming. With a low groan, she waited.

'For the hundredth time, Sha. Be aware of every part of my body, not just my weapons!'

The Khajiit sighed heavily. 'I know, I know.'

'You know now. But you didn't know a moment ago, when it mattered. If I'd actually been trying to hurt you, you'd be dead.'

'I know that, too.' Sha opened her bright amber eyes and lifted her head up from the snow. 'But if this had been an actual battle, I'd have used the Voice, and then _you'd _be dead.'

The Dunmer chuckled quietly, sheathed his swords, and extended a hand out to his pupil. Sha grasped it and let him pull her to her feet. 'Your footwork is coming along nicely,' he told her. 'And you're fast, much faster than I am. You've got good eyes when it comes to spotting openings, and you never let one go by. But you need to be aware of the fact that your enemy has weapons other than his sword, or axe, or mace, or whatever it is he's using.'

Sha nodded slowly, her ears pricked. 'Their feet.'

'That was what I used, yes. But I could have used my fists or my head. If I had been a Khajiit or Argonian, I might have used my tail. In fact, you should use yours more. Use every advantage you have over your opponent.'

'Except for the Voice.'

Ilien grinned and shook his head. 'Not on this occasion, no.' Seeing the argument forming on her lips, he held up one blue-grey skinned hand. 'Sha, don't start. This is sword practise, not Voice practise. We're working on your technique with a blade. In an actual battle, yes, the Voice is useful. But right now we're using swords only.'

Sha knew that he was right, but she wasn't a Khajiit who led anything go easily. 'But wouldn't that help me to learn when to tie in Shouts with actual swordplay?'

'You can ask your mother about that.' Ilien's crimson eyes were glittering with amusement.

'But Ma doesn't even _use _swords. And the Voice is second nature to her anyway. She hardly even has to think about it. I have to focus and practice.'

'So learn to be the best warrior you can be without the added distraction of having to concentrate on Shouts at the same time.'

Sha shrugged. She knew that her Dunmer teacher was right. He usually was when it came to weapon work, although she would never admit that. Not to his face, at any rate.

She was glad that when she had chosen to study the use of the sword rather than that of the bow, her mother had asked Ilien to oversee her training. The Dark Elf was a fair teacher. If she did something well, he never failed to praise her. If she did something wrong, he never failed to criticise. Without his blunt rebukes, she would never have learned the correct way to grip a weapon's hilt, or the right way to balance her weight, or how to stand firmly enough to not fall over, yet lightly enough to be able to move. The sign of a good teacher, in Sha's opinion, was that they never allowed you to make mistakes. And she was grateful beyond measure that Ilien cared enough to criticise.

Sha bent down and retrieved her sword from where it had fallen in the snow. 'Are we carrying on?'

Ilien shook his head. 'That's enough for today. It looks like there's a snowstorm moving in.'

'Downside of living on top of a mountain,' Sha remarked, with a rueful grin. She loved High Hrothgar – the view of Skyrim sprawled out below them, the peaceful atmosphere of the temple, the wide courtyard that was perfect for training and for snowball fights – but the endless blizzards did get a little tedious from time to time. Never in her life, except when she'd gone with her parents or some of the other warriors to visit the cities on various business, had she ever put down her feet when standing outside and heard anything other than the crunch of snow. Not that she really minded. There weren't many mortals who could boast that their home was the tallest mountain in Tamriel, and that was what the Throat of the World was.

Sha sheathed her sword and followed Ilien towards High Hrothgar. In ancient times, she knew, this monastery had been the home of the Greybeards, men of peace who had learned the Way of the Voice just as the Dragonhearts did, but never used it, remaining instead on top of their mountain to meditate. Sha had read the diaries and chronicles that her ancestor had written, just as most of the order had, and she knew that the first of the Khajiit Dragonborns had held the Greybeards in high esteem. But Sha wasn't quite sure she understood their purpose. Why learn how to use the Voice if you didn't actually do anything with it?

A smile flickered over her face. Her mother, the legendary Dragonborn known as A'jira, had thought the same. That was why she had rebuilt this ancient temple, turning it from a dimly lit, slightly crumbling, completely empty building to a fortress worthy of the protectors of Skyrim. That was why she had invited warriors from all over Tamriel to come here and begin learning the Way of the Voice. That was why she had called to the dragons, asking them to overcome their natural will to dominate and destroy and become creatures of honour and loyalty.

And they had come. The mortals had been the first, most of them Nords, but plenty from every race. Almost all had been skilled warriors, but A'jira had been forced to turn many of them away. Learning how to Shout in the dragon tongue took patience and wisdom, something that many of the mortals who came to High Hrothgar at first did not possess. But gradually, the ranks of the order had started to swell.

Ilien had been the first to be accepted. He had A'jira had briefly met before, although not on the best of terms. When Sha's mother had first come to High Hrothgar whilst on her quest to defeat Alduin, she had been ambushed by a gang of bandits, one of whom had been Ilien. After witnessing A'jira's power over the Voice, Ilien, like his fellows, had fled. After learning who A'jira was, he had sought to redeem himself, and had come to the Throat of the World expecting to be turned away. Instead, he had been initiated, and had become, in the words of Sha's father, 'A reformed character.'

There had been many others since then, men, elves and beastfolk alike, who had come to High Hrothgar and been found worthy of learning the Voice. Two decades later, and there were about twenty five in all, some hardened warriors, others ordinary folk who had been farmers and fishermen before joining the Dragonhearts. But no matter what their races and pasts might be, they all had one thing in common – a fierce will to protect Skyrim. Their home.

And then, of course, there were the dragons.

The dragons did not number as many as the mortals – there were only fourteen. Unlike the mortal initiates, however, of whom many more had volunteered to become Dragonhearts than had been accepted, these fourteen were the only dragons who had come to the Throat of the World since the founding of the order.

In the beginning, just as the only mortals had been Sha's parents, there had been only two dragons. The first was Odahviing, who had been the steed, protector and friend of Sha and A'jira's ancestor, J'shana, the first Khajiit dragonborn. He had sworn an oath that he would watch over their bloodline, and so he had. Back then, he had been a warrior, once one of the most devoted and fiercest followers of Alduin, then a fearsome defender of the Dragonborn. Now, he served a very different role.

The second dragon was Laaskriiah, a female Elder Dragon. She-dragons were not as common as the males, but they were no less powerful, and Laaskriiah was one of the most determined and formidable _dovahhe_ Sha knew. Laaskriiah had not been a follower of Alduin since his defeat in the Dragon War, and she had helped A'jira to defeat him upon his second return. She had taught A'jira how to summon her, and the two rode together into battle just as J'shana and Odahviing had in bygone days.

They were the first, but slowly, more had come – dragons who were willing to set aside the way of life they were used to and become 'reformed characters' just as Ilien had. It was hard for them, but patience and kindness guided them through. Sha often thought it amusing that the mortal Dragonhearts spent hours meditating so that they could learn the ways of dragons, while the _dovahhe _did the same thing in the hope of becoming a little more like mortals.

And over the years, the dragons and mortals became closer and closer companions. At last the day had come when one – Sha's father – had managed to learn the Shout to call his closest dragon friend, a Frost Dragon named Kestmaarnah. After that, a tradition had been born. If a dragon trusted a mortal enough to give them their name, and that mortal had the determination and wisdom to learn how to call them, then they became _Viingsoskiinne – _Wingsiblings. When they went to battle, the mortal would ride upon the back of the dragon, and together, they were an almost indomitable fighting force.

Sha did not yet have a Viingsoskiin. But that didn't trouble her all that much. She had only recently turned sixteen – old enough to be an able fighter, but not really experienced enough to join the more accomplished Dragonhearts on their missions. Their main purpose, though they would fly out to defend their people against almost any threat, was to keep rogue dragons from harming any of the citizens of the province, and much as Sha wanted to be able to fight, she didn't feel ready to fight dragons yet.

Although… her mother had been sixteen when she had fought Alduin. Sha felt a sudden burst of impatience. Why shouldn't she begin defending Skyrim? Wasn't it what she had been born to do?

'Afternoon, Ilien. J'shana.'

The voice came as a surprise, jolting Sha out of her thoughts abruptly. She turned her head and smiled along with Ilien at the speaker.

'_Ahnok, _Drusus,' she called.

Drusus nodded to her a little shyly as he walked past. The young Imperial was the newest Dragonhearts, a former carpenter whose shop had been burned to ashes by the fire of a feral dragon. He'd been at the Throat of the World about a month – long enough for Sha to get to know him and decide that she liked him, but not long enough to have told him to call her by her nickname.

It was a running joke in the Dragonhearts that every one of their warriors had two initiation ceremonies. One took place when they performed their first Shout. When that happened, they would have proved that they had the skill to learn how to use the Voice, and so the Dragonhearts would gather around them in a circle, the initiate would Shout in front of them all, and then A'jira would step forwards and say the words of the ceremony that would make them a full Dragonheart.

The second initiation, they joked, was when A'jira's daughter turned to them and told them, 'Call me Sha.'

Sha's birth name, the name that her parents had given her, was J'shana, after the first Khajiit Dragonborn. If they had been a traditional Khajiit family, she would have been Ma'shana or M'shana at first, only being given the _J _prefix when she was old enough, but Sha's was not a traditional Khajiit family. For a start, her mother had lost her parents at the age of three and been brought up by Nords. She didn't speak Ta'agra, she worshipped Talos, and she had never set foot in Elsweyr. And Sha's father was an Argonian. Half-bloods were not as rare any more as they had been in the past, but they were still uncommon, and slightly unpredictable. Most often they inherited their mother's race, although some of their father's features were sometimes present. Sha was no exception – she resembled a Khajiit in everything apart from the fact that she was a slightly stronger swimmer than most of her kin. Not that she got the chance to practise very often, living on top of a mountain where most water was in the form of ice.

But anyway, the consequence of being born to parents who had no idea of Khajiit naming traditions was that they had – in Sha's opinion – decided to play it safe and named her after their ancestor. She liked the name, and she was proud to bear it. Who wouldn't be honoured to be named for a hero like the first J'shana? The only problem was that whenever someone mentioned the name J'shana, she would often find herself running over to whoever it was asking if they wanted her, only to find that they had actually been talking about her ancestor.

She had been about eight when she had decided that enough was enough, and that from now on, she would be called by her nickname, Sha. After that, whenever she was introduced to someone who asked her name, she would tell them, 'I'm J'shana. My friends call me Sha.' And gradually things had changed so that _only _her friends called her Sha.

That was why it was seen as a Dragonheart's second initiation when Sha decided she liked someone enough to allow them to call her by her nickname. Anyone who had the right to call her Sha had earned the trust and respect of the Dragonborn's daughter.

Sha watched as Drusus walked by them, heading towards the training dummies set up along one side of the courtyard. It was Hearthfire, and the days were warmer than usual, which meant that most of the members of the order were outside. There were others already at the practice area – Sha spotted Firlaen, a shrewd and talented Bosmer, steadily filling the stuffed figures with arrows, and two of the Dragonhearts' mages, Lorn and Listens-To-Echoes, sending bolts of fire, frost and lightning towards them. Nearby, two Nords, Andelm and Tholund, sat beside one of the braziers, reading in the warmth of the flames, with Tholund occasionally leaning across and muttering something to Andelm – probably asking what a word meant, Sha thought with a grin. Tholund wasn't the sharpest blade in the armoury. A few dragons wheeled through the sky, some carrying the indistinct blurs of riders on their backs. And a little way away, at the courtyard's edge, a small figure sat on a boulder, legs crossed and head bowed, a figure who turned and beckoned as Sha walked by.

'Sha, come and see this!'

Sha glanced at Ilien, who shrugged. 'Go ahead. Training's over.'

With a grateful nod to her teacher, Sha jogged across the courtyard until she reached the edge. 'What is it, Arnor?'

Arnor Eagle-Heart was the daughter of two Dragonhearts, Andelm and Sviri, and apart from Sha, the only resident of High Hrothgar who could boast that she'd been born there. Her parents had left their home – the Skaal Village on the isle of Solstheim – to join the order, and Arnor had been born six months after Sha. The two were different in almost every way – one a grey and black tabby Khajiit, smaller than average and more than a little reckless, the other a dark-haired, blue-eyed Nord, tall even as a child and as patient and quiet as Sha was restless and eager. But despite their differences, they had grown up together, played together, trained together and practised the Voice together, and Sha hoped that one day they would take to the skies together on dragonback.

'I've finally got it,' Arnor announced as Sha reached her, turning to face the cliff with a broad smile. 'Watch.'

The young Nord breathed in deeply, sucking air down into her lungs, and let out a thunderous Shout. '_LOK!'_

The pale blue shape of the Shout tore through the air, shooting away from the one who had uttered it and ripping into the sky. The shockwave soon vanished from sight, but Sha could see it continuing on its path from the way the clouds parted, splitting in half and rolling aside.

'Clear Skies,' Sha remarked. 'Impressive.' She couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Clear Skies was one of the simpler Shouts, but even now, three years since she'd learned the first word, she hadn't quite managed to master it yet. But then, she hadn't really been practising it all that much. Sha preferred to focus on the combat-based Shouts. Fire Breath was the first one she had mastered completely, and she was able to use all three words. She knew the first word of Unrelenting Force, too, one of Elemental Fury, and was practising Frost Breath, though she wasn't able to use it yet. Arnor preferred to practise the less violent Shouts – she had mastered Kyne's Peace, and was working on Animal Allegiance and Slow Time. And now, it seemed, she had also learned the first word of Clear Skies.

'When you learn a Shout,' Sha's mother was constantly saying, 'You take it into yourself, make it a part of you. And you, in turn, become part of it. That's why it's easiest to learn Shouts that appeal most to your inner nature.'

Sha wasn't certain she understood the part about becoming part of a Shout, but she knew what the last bit meant. The Shouts that each different Dragonheart preferred said a lot about them. Lorn, for example, who was a quiet and deep-thinking Altmer, favoured Become Ethereal. Ilien's favourite Shout was Elemental Fury, which allowed him to move at lightning speed in battle. Duroth, the Dragonhearts' only Orc, was a strong-willed warrior, and naturally the Shout he used most was Unrelenting Force.

'It's good, isn't it?' Arnor said happily, beaming widely as she watched the clouds roll apart. 'You can see so much when there aren't any clouds.'

'It's a nice Shout, but it wouldn't be much use in a fight,' Sha pointed out. 'Unless it was raining and you didn't want your sword to get rusty.'

Arnor rolled her eyes and gave her a push that made her stagger. 'I wouldn't use it in a fight, though, would I? That's not what it's for.'

'Nope. It's for people who can't put up with a bit of rain,' Sha grinned.

Arnor bent down, scooped up a snowball and hurled it at Sha's head. The Khajiit ducked quickly. When you lived on a mountain, the standard way of expressing annoyance at someone was to chuck snow at them, and you soon learned to dodge.

'I can't wait to show Duroth,' Arnor announced. 'He'll be jealous.'

Sha raised her eyebrows. 'You think? I don't think he really cares about Shouts that aren't to do with fighting.'

'Yes, but he can't do it,' Arnor shrugged. 'And you know how he reacts when one of us can do something that he can't.'

There was a sudden, loud sound, one that every Dragonheart recognised and heard every day – the sound of a dragon's heavy, echoing wingbeats. A moment later, the snow beneath their feet turned grey as a vast shadow fell upon it, blocking out the sun. Both girls ducked as something enormous swept over their heads, then spun around to see a brown-scaled dragon land in the courtyard behind them with a thunderous thud and a shower of snow.

'What can't I do?' came an indignant voice.

The dragon lowered its head, and a young Orc, jumped down from his riding position behind its horns. Arnor straightened up slowly, glaring at him. 'Duroth, do you have to show off like that?'

Duroth's brown eyes widened slightly. 'Show off?' he repeated, looking offended. '_Show off?' _He turned to the dragon. 'Juskahrath, do I show off?'

Juskahrath inclined his head, his mouth curving upwards into the closest thing a dragon could come to a smirk. '_Aan mal, Viingzeymah. _A little.'

Arnor giggled, Sha clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle a laugh, and Juskahrath made a low, rumbling chuckling sound. It was far from the first time that Duroth and Juskahrath had swooped down on them like that, and Sha doubted it would be the last. She guessed she would have to get used to it.

Duroth was probably her best friend, after Arnor. She could still vaguely remember the day ten years ago when he had arrived at High Hrothgar. There had been rumours of rogue dragons - either ferals or followers of Alduin – preying on settlements in the Reach, and Sha's mother had flown out with a small band of Drgonhearts to see if anything needed to be done. But they had arrived too late. A pair of blood dragons had attacked an Orc stronghold, burning the place to the ground and slaughtering all they had found there. Only Duroth, seven years old and far too small to fight, had survived. His parents had hidden him in a cellar, and he had not emerged until after the sound of screaming and roaring had stopped. Sha's mother had found him, kneeling over the bodies of his parents, too stunned and afraid to cry. Alone as he was, he'd had only two options – go to an orphanage, or come and live on High Hrothgar. He'd chosen the latter.

The fact that he, Sha and Arnor were close in age meant that they spent most of their time in each other's company – and Duroth's company was always enjoyable. Despite the tragedy of his past, he was a cheerful soul, and unlike many teenage boys, he had never thought it embarrassing that his only mortal friends were girls. Or if he did, he never said anything about it.

Sha knew, though, that though she and Arnor were two of Duroth's best friends, they were not his closest friends by a long way. That title went to Juskahrath; there was no disputing it. The brown-scaled dragon was young for a _dovah –_ he had been hatched some time after Alduin's second coming upon Nirn, and by that time, the World Eater was already dead. Sha suspected that the fact he had never been under Alduin's influence was why Juskahrath had found it easier than some dragons to overcome his will to destroy. He had come to the Throat of the World when Duroth was thirteen, and they had become official Wingsiblings two years later, making the Orc the youngest Dragonheart so far to establish that bond with a dragon. Now Duroth and Juskahrath were an almost inseparable pair, and a formidable fighting force.

And they were both show-offs. Everyone in High Hrothgar would agree with Sha on that one.

'So, what can't I do?' Duroth demanded, turning to Arnor. 'If I can't do it now, I bet I can learn.'

Arnor rolled her eyes. 'The Clear Skies Shout. I just mastered the first word.'

The Orc snorted. 'So you can stop it from raining. Very impressive.'

Sha and Arnor had long since learned not to take anything Duroth said seriously, especially if it sounded like an insult, and the Nord girl didn't seem bothered by the Orc's dismissive attitude. 'Look at it this way, Duroth,' Arnor sighed. 'How many times in your life have you wished you could stop it raining, compared to the amount of times you've wanted to hurl someone halfway across a room and break their spine?'

Juskahrath tilted his head on one side. 'The _bron _has a point, _zeymah.'_

'Yeah, but which is going to be more useful in an actual battle?' Duroth demanded.

'And which is going to be more useful in everyday life?' Arnor countered.

'But what are the Dragonhearts actually for? Fighting!'

'That is not entirely true, _ogiim,' _came a low growl from behind them.

The Orc and the dragon turned their heads, and the Khajiit and the Nord inched to the side in order to see around their friends. There was a pause; then all four gave small, respectful nods in the direction of the speaker.

'_Drem yol lok, _Odahviing,' Sha said quietly.

The red dragon cast a long, measuring gaze over the younger creatures. Sha wondered how long he had been listening. Odahviing spent most of his time on the small plateau near the summit of the mountain, but every so often he would come down to the monastery, usually in order to speak to Sha's mother. He must have approached while they had been too busy arguing to notice him.

'Greetings, _Dovahloz,' _Odahviing growled, giving her a small, toothy smile, which Sha readily returned. _Dovahloz – _dragon cub - was the name that most of the dragons called her by.

Odahviing arched his long neck and turned his head to the side so as to get a better look at Duroth. 'Why do you say that we exist to fight, _goraan gein?' _

Duroth shrugged. 'Aren't we meant to be Skyrim's protectors?'

'Protection does not always mean fighting,' Odahviing answered.

Dragons often spoke in a cryptic manner by their nature, and the mortals who lived among them had long since learned to be patient when listening to them. They always got around to saying what they meant eventually.

'You all know me as the _dovah _who sits upon the peak of the _Monahven, _lost in _lor… _in thought,' Odahviing said, and Sha detected a trace of amusement in the words. 'That was not always my _heyv, _my duty. Before your births, _joorre, _that task fell to another, one far wiser than I.'

The three mortals nodded. 'Paarthurnax,' Sha murmured.

Odahviing's gaze grew distant, and he stared out into the sky cleared by Arnor's Shout. 'There was a time, _ogiim, _when I thought the same way as you. You think of me as a _mindopah, _a teacher, but not so long ago, I was a _kendov. _A warrior, just as you are.'

Sha, Arnor, Duroth and Juskahrath watched the scarlet-scaled dragon as he lumbered past them and settled at the edge of the cliff, wrapping his thick tail over his feet. 'I was a follower of Alduin, one of his most trusted _aarre. _On his orders, I slew many. I turned homes to _yol _and ash. My claws ran red with the _sos _of mortals. And when Alduin was defeated, I felt like many of the _dovahhe. Sizaan. _Lost. Lacking purpose.'

Sha had heard this story many times, but she guessed that Odahviing had a reason for telling it to them, so she listened.

'But you found it again,' Arnor said. 'Serving Sha's ancestor.'

'_Nid, _not serving.' Odahviing sounded slightly wistful. 'I was her _fahdon _and her _grah-zeymahzin… _her friend and ally. When she called, I came. And when she needed me to _krif, _then I fought. It was a purpose of which I was justly _zokah, _proud.' He dropped his fierce yellow gaze to the snow. 'But then the _Dovahkiin _died, as all mortals must die. I feared that I would lose my newfound _zin, _my honour_. _Until Paarthurnax called me to the _Monahven.'_

He lifted his head, his neck twisting around, and Sha saw his eyes fix upon the mountain's distant peak. 'Paarthurnax began to… train me. He was my _mindopah, _and I his _pruustiik.'_

_Teacher _and _student, _Sha translated mentally. She'd been learning the Dragon Tongue almost since she was old enough to speak, and though she wasn't yet fluent, she was becoming close to it.

'Paarthurnax and I both knew that Alduin would some day return. And so we waited. We watched. But we both knew that his power was waning. With his age, and with the wounds he had received in _grah _with Alduin, his ability to read the currents of _tiid _was weakening. When Alduin returned, a new _dovah _would have to guide the _Dovahkiin, _and train her as Paarthurnax trained the first _Kaaz Dovahkiin._' He turned to look at Sha again._ '_When your _monah_ discovered her destiny as _Dovahkiin, _young _kaaz, _Paarthurnax was still living. But after her victory over Alduin, he…' He paused, as if searching for the right word. 'He _lifaan._ Departed.'

'He died,' Duroth stated flatly.

What looked like irritation sparked in Odahviing's eyes, but it was quickly gone. '_Nid, ogiim. _No. He departed.'

'Where to?' Duroth demanded. 'If he's not around on Nirn any more, he's dead.'

Odahviing let out a low growl. 'There are some things I cannot share with _joorre, _even _fahdonne _and _Dovahzahreikke. _Some secrets belong only to _dov.'_

Sha swapped a puzzled glance with Arnor. The Nord shrugged. Even Juskahrath seemed confused.

'Where Paarthurnax went, and why, is not of importance,' Odahviing said firmly. 'What matters is the _onikaan _and the _heyz, _the wisdom and the duty, that he imparted to me before he left. He told me that he wished for me to take his place on the summit of the _Monahven. Unahzaal korahviik. _He said that I was to watch over _Keizaal, _gazing into the currents of time, as he did. I was to become a _mindopah. _Since then I have taken upon Paarthurnax's position, though I often feel the urge to fight within me. I do not possess his wisdom, but in teaching, so I learn.'

He turned around, away from the cliff edge, facing the four younger creatures again. 'As _mindopah, _it is my duty to teach the _dovahhe _that there are other ways to live- better ways than that of _yol _and _dinok. _In the beginning, when Paarthurnax and the _Dovahkiin _started to teach such things to me, I found it hard to learn. But they trusted me to teach, and I shall not betray that trust. This is the destiny that was set out for me.'

Sha heard Duroth mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, 'Get to the point,' and tried her best to block him out.

'I am a warrior at _zahreik, _at heart,' Odahviing rumbled. 'But though I shall always be ready to _krif _when called to, I have a greater duty now. My purpose is to turn as many _dovahhe _as I can away from the path of bloodshed.' He paused for a moment, as if considering something, then added, 'Unlike Paarthurnax, I do not believe that my kind should turn to the Way of the Voice and abandon the part of our inner nature that calls us to _kein, _to war. The _dovah _is a creature born to fight. What I believe is that we need a greater cause to fight for.'

'Like ours,' Arnor offered.

'_Vrah. _Indeed.' Odahviing nodded slowly. 'Here we can be _kendovve, _warriors, and yet our rage is used as a tool to build peace. Not to destroy.' His gaze focused on Duroth. 'You understand, _goraan ogiim? _There must be balance. Just as _gol _and _lok, vulon _and _sul, felniir _and _koor _exist in harmony, so must _rahgol _and _drem.'_

_Earth and sky, day and night, winter and summer, _Sha thought. _And rage and peace._

'This is our purpose. Not to fight, but to bring balance. And once you _mindoraan daar vahzen, _understand this truth, you are on your way to controlling that balance within yourself.'

Sha frowned. She thought she understood what Odahviing meant, but she couldn't be sure. She glanced at her friends. Arnor and Juskahrath looked puzzled; Duroth doubtful.

Odahviing laughed a dragon's deep laugh. 'You are young. You have much to learn, and it is _tiid ahrk seirak, _time and experience, that shall teach it to you. What you must see is already in front of you, but until you come to understand, you shall not be given the eyes to see it.' He bared his vicious white teeth in a smile. 'Come, _kiirre. _There is _aan odstrun _approaching, and though your new Shout, young _bron, _might banish it, sometimes it is better to allow nature to take its course.'

Duroth shrugged. 'I guess we'd better get inside. I'd rather not get stuck in a snowstorm.'

Juskahrath spread his vast wings. 'I shall take shelter on the lower reaches of the mountain, _zeymah,' _he told Duroth, and took to the air, sending up a maelstrom of snowflakes.

Duroth glanced at Arnor and Sha. 'You girls coming inside?'

'You two go,' Sha told them. 'I just want to ask Odahviing something.'

She watched her friends make their way across the courtyard, waiting until they were out of earshot before turning to Odahviing. 'Odah, you said that you thought being a teacher was your destiny. Can you actually see the future? Do you know what people's destinies are?'

The red dragon tilted his head on one side. 'What do you believe, _dovahloz?'_

Sha was tempted to say that she hadn't asked what she believed, but arguing with a dragon was pointless. 'I… I'm not sure. Ma says that we decide our own fates.'

'But do you agree with her? And is fate the same as destiny?'

Sha blinked, surprised. 'I never thought they could be different.' She closed her eyes, wondering. What _did _she think?

'I'm not sure I like the idea of my entire life being planned out by the Divines,' she said finally. 'I'd prefer to be making my own choices.'

Odahviing looked pleased. '_Tol los pruzah. _That is good.'

He let out a long sigh. 'It is not easy to say what I see in the currents of time, _dovahloz. _Much is unclear. Paarthurnax could see far more through the _tiid-ahraan, _the time wound, than is shown to me. Perhaps with time, what I see shall be clearer. I, too, lack experience. Like your Orc friend, I have much to learn.'

'So you can see the future… just not all of it?'

'I see fragments, _kaaz kiir. _As I overcome my inner _rahgol, _I hope I shall see more.' Odahviing opened his wings, stretched them out, then folded them again. 'As for destiny, _dovahloz, _your choices are your own. The future is ever in motion, so Paarthurnax told me. Your mother could not deny the fact that she was to be born as _Dovahkiin – _that is, was, and shall _mahfaeraak _be her destiny. But her fate she may choose.'

Sha dipped her head. 'I think I understand.'

'I think so too, _kiir. _And the day shall come when you understand more.' The crimson dragon took a shuffling step towards her. 'But remember this, _kiir. _Though you may make your own choices, the dragon blood flows strong within you, and the _dovah sos _is the blood of destiny. I believe there is something in your future, something meant only for you.'

Sha felt a sudden shiver run through her body, from the tufted tips of her ears to the end of her tail. 'What sort of something?'

'A destiny.' Odahviing's yellow eyes burned into hers. 'I cannot say when. It may be tomorrow. It may be _pogaan __eruvosse_, many years, before it comes to pass. Perhaps it has already begun.'

Sha opened her mouth, ready to ask him what that meant for her – but before she could speak, a new sound rang out through the air, over the wind, over the wingbeats of the few dragons that circled overhead, over the distant cries of the eagles and hawks.

It was a roar, but a roar unlike any she had ever heard before. It sounded like a dragon, but it was far louder than any dragon. And as she listened, she could almost detect words within the roar, faint words that seemed to sound in her mind rather than in her ears. But when she tried to focus on them, to listen to them, they slipped away from her, and before she could try again the roar faded away into the wind.

Sha stood there for a few seconds, angling her ears left and right, trying to detect any remaining trace of the sound, but it was gone, as if it had never existed. Her brow furrowing, she turned to Odahviing. 'What was that?'

The dragon had gone very still. His limbs were rigid, as if locked in ice, and his eyes were staring out over Skyrim with a strange expression in them. His claws were digging into the snow, gouging long, deep marks in the soft white surface.

'Odahviing?' Sha ventured. 'Are you all right?'

For a heartbeat, Odahviing did not stir. Then he blinked and shook his head, turning away. 'There is nothing wrong,' he growled. 'It was nothing.'

Sha took a nervous step in his direction. 'What was that roar? It sounded almost like a Shout-'

'It was _nothing,' _Odahviing repeated, more firmly. 'Nothing that should trouble you, _kiir. _Follow your friends before the snowstorm comes.'

The Khajiit gazed at the dragon, unable to fight down a feeling of unease. There had been something about that roar – and about Odahviing's reaction to hearing it – that had felt wrong. Deeply, terribly wrong.

But there was no arguing with a dragon.

With a final nod towards the dragon teacher, Sha turned and ran towards High Hrothgar after Duroth and Arnor.

Odahviing looked on as the Dragonborn's daughter raced through the snow, her tail streaming behind her. Not until she had disappeared through the doors to the monastery did he turn away to face the mountains and forests of Skyrim once more.

'It cannot be,' he murmured. 'It _cannot be.' _

He shook his head firmly. 'I was mistaken,' he growled. 'I would know if it was. I would know.'

But as he spread his wings and leaped into the air, heading towards the peace and shelter of his plateau, he couldn't stop his thoughts from straying to his recent visions.

There was no denying it. Somehow, sometime soon, something was coming. And when it came, it would come for the Dragonhearts.

And the Dragonborn's daughter would be a part of it.

Odahviing was not as old as Paarthurnax had been, nor as experienced, nor anywhere near so wise. But he did not need Paarthurnax's knowledge to be certain of the truth.

J'shana, daughter of A'jira, was far more important than she knew. She had a destiny. And that destiny was coming.

Soon.

* * *

**Oh, Odahviing, if only you knew... **

**So, at last I've introduced the Dragonhearts! I hope you like Sha, Arnor and Duroth, because they'll all be playing important parts in the story. Odahviing, meanwhile, has inherited Paarthurnax's ability to ramble... I'm interested to know what you think of my new characters, and of this chapter. :)**

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Flying The Nest

CHAPTER THREE – FLYING THE NEST

It was mid-morning when the problem arose of how, exactly, they were going to get Qoyoliiz out of the Barrow.

For some time, Veldarion and the Bloodcallers had observed their creation, examining him in every detail, performing a few experiments to determine whether Qoyoliiz was a dragon with one mind but three heads or three dragons with one body – it definitely seemed that the former was the case – and to make sure that the magic that bound him together was strong and stable. At last, Veldarion had announced that they had succeeded, and that Qoyoliiz could leave the chamber. That was when Auguste, ever the cynic, had raised what was, Veldarion quickly realised, a perfectly logical question. 'How?'

For a moment there was silence, as the Bloodcallers looked from the tiny door to the Spellchamber, to the equally small trapdoor in the roof, to the vast three-headed dragon who crouched in front of them. Veldarion had suddenly felt a strong temptation to send a fireball at something. But just as Drethin was starting to mutter something along the lines of, 'We should have thought this through more,' Qoyoliiz let out a low yet thunderous growl and stepped forward, parting the muttering Bloodcallers with a single sweep of his massive tail. Standing in the centre of the Barrow, Qoyoliiz reared up, spreading his wings for balance, and Shouted with three voices.

'FUS RO DAH!'

The force of the three Shouts combined was enough to blow the metal trapdoor clean off its hinges and send it spiralling away over the tundra – along with a considerable amount of the ceiling. For an awful moment, Veldarion had thought the entire chamber was about to cave in, but after trembling for a little, it held.

Qoyoliiz let out a roar of ferocious triumph and leaped. His wings pushed down against the air, throwing him forwards and up, out of the Barrow and into the sky beyond. Veldarion heard him bellowing in what sounded like delight, followed by an echoing thud as he landed on the grass.

After a breathless run through the stone corridors to reach the entrance, where he very nearly forgot to activate the runes he'd cast earlier before running outside, Veldarion stood amongst the gently swaying grass, gazing in wonder at what he had created.

In the open, Qoyoliiz looked even more incredible than he had in the tomb. He was enormous – half as large again as a regular dragon, with wings like ship's sails and a tail like a tree trunk. The scales that covered his body were dark copper in colour, like those of an Ancient Dragon, only a little more reddish. His spines looked as if they were carved out of obsidian, and there were patches of white, grey and black on his wings. But it was, of course, his three heads that drew Veldarion's eye.

The centre head was the head of the fire-breathing Ancient Dragon, the leftmost that of the steely grey Storm Dragon, and the one on the right had the Frost Dragon's pale scales and icicle-like spines. The separate colours continued down each of the three long necks, before blurring together into the red-bronze colour where they joined Qoyoliiz's shoulders. The left and right heads were currently turning from side to side, seemingly carefully examining the body they belonged to, while the centre head was gazing up at the thickly clouded sky. As Veldarion approached, all three heads slowly turned towards him.

'_Su ofan mul,' _Qoyoliiz growled, speaking with all three mouths. 'The free air gives strength to my blood.'

Veldarion was too amazed to speak at first. It staggered belief, being before a creature with three sets of teeth to bite, three voices to roar, three mouths to Shout, and know that he had created it, and that it was in his service. The High Elf shook himself, swallowed, and forced his mouth into action. 'You are a magnificent creature,' he breathed.

An identical expression of satisfaction appeared on each of the three faces. 'You created me, _In,' _the centre head proclaimed. 'You gave me this power.'

Veldarion's gaze travelled over the huge wings, the vicious teeth, the gaping hole torn in the ground. 'I did,' he murmured.

'And for what _nuft?' _It was the Frost Dragon head that spoke this time, its voice a little higher-pitched than that of the Ancient Dragon's. 'What purpose?'

The Altmer smiled, taking a step forwards. 'Power,' he said simply, and then, remembering the little Draconic he knew, he added, '_Mulaag.'_

'_Mulaag,' _the heads hissed together, and the sound made a shiver of glee run through Veldarion's body.

'I learned long ago,' Veldarion said softly, 'that magic is the path to power. But magical talent alone can only achieve so much. Every warlord, however powerful, needs an army.'

'_Svaan konahriik?' _The Storm Dragon head lowered until it was on a level with Veldarion. 'You are a warlord, _Wahliik?'_

'Not yet.' Veldarion was not ashamed to admit it. 'I have a small force. You have seen them, Qoyoliiz. They aided me in your creation. But though they are talented mages, and loyal to me, they are no army.'

Qoyoliiz's heads nodded. 'You are _nahgahdinokke, _not _kendovve. _Necromancers, not warriors.'

'Our strength is in our minds and our spells,' Veldarion told him. 'We need strength behind us. I realised this long before I dreamed of bringing you into existence. I thought of raising an army of undead. But the undead are weak and easily beaten, and such an enchantment could be broken. I thought of using the powers of the Daedra, but the Daedric Princes care for nothing but their own gain, and such pacts always turn in their favour. I considered many options, and I asked myself, _out of all living things on Nirn, which are the strongest and most deadly? Which, above all others, wish for war and domination? _And soon my answer came to me.'

'_Dov.' _Qoyoliiz spoke with all of his mouths, and all six eyes were gleaming.

'Dragonkind,' Veldarion affirmed. 'No other creatures have such a strong will to destroy and control. I realised that if I could have an army of dragons at my back, nothing would be able to stop me. But I have studied dragons. I believe I am one of the few who knew of their existence after the first death of Alduin. And I knew enough to realise that they would never follow a mortal. They would follow any of their blood, but never an ordinary mortal such as myself. But if I had a dragon at my side, a loyal dragon who would follow me, and who was powerful enough for the dragons to want to obey him… then I would have an army like no other on Nirn.'

'And so you created me,' Qoyoliiz murmured.

'Precisely. Together we shall build and army that shall conquer any who stand in our path.' Veldarion felt a smile spreading over his face. 'We will not be master and servant, but brothers. We will take this land together. You will command all dragons, and I will be master of mortals.' He spread his arms wide. 'What do you say?'

The long, vicious talons sank into the ground, raking lines into the soft earth. 'Yes,' hissed the centre head, and the word was echoed by the other mouths. '_Yes.'_

'That's all very well.' Veldarion turned to see Auguste standing behind him, the other Bloodcallers lined up a short way away. 'But right now our army consists of one dragon.'

_But what a dragon, _Veldarion thought in wonder.

'That is easy to _zifahl,' _Qoyoliiz announced. 'My mind was created clean. I do not possess the memories of the weak _dovahhe _who died to create me. But I have some of their knowledge,, knowledge that all of my kind possess. The knowledge of the Voice and its Shouts.'

'I'm not an expert in Dragon Shouts,' Lurag said dryly. 'But as far as I can remember, there's no Shout to conjure up an army.'

Qoyoliiz let out an irritated-sounding growl, and tipped back all three heads. Veldarion, sensing a sudden aura of power beginning to thrum in the air around his creation, took a step backwards and clamped his hands over his ears.

The three-headed dragon's chest inflated as he sucked in air; then all of his voices Shouted in unison. 'FOR DOV MEYZ!'

In his mind, Veldarion translated the words, and his eyes widened. It didn't take a genius to understand what this Shout did.

'I have sent out a call,' Qoyoliiz growled. 'A call that shall sound in every corner of this land. No matter where they are, my _fron, _my kin, shall hear it. And they shall answer.'

'All of them?' Veldarion asked, his voice hoarse as he imagined a flock of dragons, hundreds strong, converging on the barrow.

The frost and storm heads glanced at each other. '_Nid, _not all. This was the summoning call that Alduin once used to gather his own army. He created it. The _dovahhe _who hear it shall recognise it as Alduin's call. Only those who would be willing to answer to Alduin will come.'

Veldarion frowned, trying to work out whether that was a good or a bad thing. He didn't like the idea of the dragons coming because they were hoping to find Alduin – he and Qoyoliiz were not Alduin, and he was slightly worried that the dragons might be a little put out upon discovering that another dragon had used the summoning call. On the other hand, it meant that any dragons who came to the Barrow would be those willing to follow orders, and those who wished for power. For fire. For blood.

_Kindred spirits, _Veldarion thought, and he chuckled.

'They may be few at first,' Qoyoliiz growled, 'but more shall come. From the _strunmahhe _and the _feykro. _Dragons of every kind – fire, blood, frost, elder, ancient, serpentine, storm, wind, revered and legendary. They shall join us, and our strength together shall take _Keizaal!'_

'Not only Skyrim,' Veldarion said, moving closer to the dragon. 'We shall take power here first, and when the dragons see our might, they shall join us. And so will mortals, mortals who see the power we offer. And then we shall take every other province, from High Rock to the Summerset Isles. We shall rule Tamriel. It may take a thousand years, but we shall see it done.'

His creation reared again, outstretching his massive wings. One head roared a hundred times louder than a sabre cat, one sent a jet of frost up into the air, and one bellowed in a voice like thunder. 'None shall stand to oppose us!'

Veldarion's eyes narrowed.

'There are some who may,' he said quietly.

Qoyoliiz looked at him sharply. 'None have the _mulaag _to be a threat to our might.'

Veldarion cast his eyes around for a boulder. Finding one, he seated himself upon it. Qoyoliiz approached, lowering his heads until they were on a level with that of the High Elf.

'You have some knowledge of the world, I see, but there is much you have still to be taught,' Veldarion told him. 'It appears you do not know of the enemies we have. They do not know of us yet, but when they learn of us and our purpose, they shall act against us, as sure as night follows day. And they do have the strength to be a danger.'

'_Pahlok meyye.' _The dragon let out a soft snarl. 'Who are these _vaxxe?'_

_Traitors, _Veldarion thought. Yes, that was a fitting word to use to describe them.

He breathed in deeply, and looked into his creation's six unblinking eyes. 'Allow me to tell you about the Dragonhearts.'

* * *

The midday meal in High Hrothgar was always a rather chaotic event. For a start, it was sometimes difficult for the Dragonhearts to get their hands on enough food for them all – yet another downside of being based on an immensely tall mountain. This often meant that some of the dragons would have to go out hunting, returning with a few dead mountain goats or elk, which then had to be cleaned, prepared and cooked before the meal could even begin.

Then there was the fact that the residents of High Hrothgar all had very different eating habits. There were some – Duroth and Tholund, for example – who viewed food as fuel for the furnace, and shovelled it down within seconds. Others, such as Lorn, Arnor's mother Sviri, and Sha's father, were a little more sophisticated. The result was that one half of the table would be finished in a few minutes and would begin shouting, laughing, joking and occasionally singing while the others glared at them and continually asked them to calm down a little.

The final thing that made sure that the meal was never dull was the conversation. As Sha walked into the dining chamber, Arnor and Duroth beside her, the meal was already in progress, and the other Dragonhearts' chatter was filling the room.

'I've finally managed to do that barrel roll move without falling off. I guess it's harder when your dragon doesn't have spines for you to grip onto or anything, and seeing as Vithmulsah's a Serpentine…'

'Pass the potatoes, Firlaen.'

'I've spent the whole morning locked up in my room trying to meditate on that Ice Form Shout, and this Gods-damn moth kept on fluttering into my face and distracting me.'

'And of course, Andelm's going on and on about how I don't keep enough tension in my torso when I swing my axe, or something along those lines, and so I tell him I'd like to see him do any better, and he takes a swing at the dummy and misses by about this much and goes headfirst into the snow…'

'And the vampire says- get this, Drusus – he says –'

''That's how I became a vampire in the first place!''

'Hey, don't steal my punchlines!'

'Come on, Tholund, that one was kind of predictable. Funny, though.'

'Firlaen, can you get me the potatoes?'

'Nah, a dragon would win. I mean, they _can_ fly and breathe fire.'

'But against five giants? Dragons are pretty powerful, but if there were five of them –'

'What sort of dragon are we talking about? I guess the giants would win if it was just an ordinary fire or blood dragon, but say we're talking an elder or an ancient…'

'Ilien, can _you_ pass the potatoes?'

'I'm not sure I can reach from here. Firlaen's right next to them.'

'I keep asking her, but I don't think she can hear me. Hey, Firlaen. _Firlaen!_'

'That reminds me a bit of the time when we were fighting that bandit camp – remember the one who kept screaming about using my tail as a belt?'

'If I've heard a bandit tell me he's going to make me into a rug, I've heard it a hundred times…'

'Stendarr's mercy! _Firlaen, can you pass me the Divines-damned potatoes?!'_

'All right, all right! No need to shout.'

The Dragonhearts' meals were, as a rule, fairly unorganised. They were usually within the same time period every day, but when exactly they began and ended depended on when someone started feeling hungry, and how fast everyone was at eating. There was no seating plan, either – they would come in and seat themselves wherever they could find the space. Sha, Arnor and Duroth were the last to arrive, but the others had thoughtfully left enough space for them to sit down together. They dropped into their seats with Arnor in the middle.

Since Duroth always attacked his food with the attitude of a wolf that hadn't been fed in a week and never uttered a word until he was finished, and Arnor didn't appear to be in the mood for conversation (Sha suspected she was still thinking about the Clear Skies Shout) Sha was left to eat her venison silently, whilst listening to the conversation between the two Dragonhearts on her left.

These two warriors were two of the most respected in the order, and with good reason. The first was an Argonian woman named Listens-To-Echoes, Echo for short. She was tall for an Argonian, with pale green scales, round yellow eyes, sulfur-coloured feathers, and short, straight white horns. She was a talented spellsword, skilled with both the blade and with Destruction magic, and was in fact Sha's second cousin. Soon after Sha's father had helped found the Dragonhearts, he had written home to his family about it. Two months later, his cousin Echo had unexpectedly turned up on the doorstep of High Hrothgar, explaining that she'd visited his parents, found out where he was and what he was doing, and wanted to do anything she could to help. Now she was one of the strongest fighters the Dragonhearts had, and Sha was honoured to be her kin.

The second was High Elf named Ilornias, who preferred to be called Lorn. He was a quiet soul, seldom speaking to anyone except his two closest friends – Echo, and his Wingbrother, a Storm Dragon named Vulqostrun. Lorn was several hundred years old, and though Sha didn't like to think that anyone could possibly be a better Destruction mage than her father, she had to admit that the Altmer came close. But then, his race had a natural talent for magic.

It didn't surprise Sha to hear the two talking about dragons. Having served in the Dragonhearts for so long, Echo and Lorn were both close to their _Viingsoskiinne, _and incredibly skilled at fighting from dragonback. Most of the Dragonhearts were in agreement that if Echo and Lorn didn't know something about dragon-mounted combat, it wasn't worth knowing.

'There are clear advantages to riding a Serpentine,' Ilornias was saying. 'Admittedly you have less stability because of the lack of spines and horns, but they are far more supple and agile than other breeds.'

Echo dipped her head, and the red and white ribbons and beads tied to her horns fluttered and clinked slightly. 'I think Storm Dragons are more powerful in combat, though. After all, no other dragon can use the Lightning Breath Shout, and even A'jira has trouble with Storm Call.'

'Storm Call doesn't actually have that many practical uses. Dragonhearts very seldom fight alone, and it's difficult to control the Shout well enough to prevent it from striking your allies. Serpentine Dragons are far more versatile than Storm Dragons.'

Sha couldn't stop herself from butting in. 'Lorn, isn't your Wingbrother a Storm Dragon?'

The Altmer glanced at her in surprise, then laughed and nodded. 'Oh, Echo made a comment about how she has trouble not falling off Vithmulsah, and how it must be easier to ride a Storm Dragon. I told her that Serpentines have their advantages. Personally I believe there's no other breed to match the Storm Dragons, but then, I'm biased.'

It was a long speech for him, but then Lorn was always fairly eager to talk about dragons. 'So, you're arguing for the sake of it,' Sha said.

'Debating, not arguing,' Echo corrected her. 'If I'd wanted an argument, I'd have sat next to Andelm.'

Sha grinned, but as she turned back to her food, she found herself murmuring, 'At least you have Wingsiblings to argue over.'

'I heard that,' Lorn told her calmly, and Sha was suddenly glad that Khajiit couldn't blush.

The High Elf leaned forwards so as to see her better. 'Sha, gaining a Wingsibling is like making a best friend. Nothing can make it happen; it just does.'

'There needs to be genuine trust, respect and friendship between _joor _and _dovah, _I know.' Sha's voice was half a sigh as she spoke. She'd long since lost count of the number of times she'd heard the words.

Echo smiled at her. 'I know you're probably tired of being told to be patient.'

'Yup. Please don't tell me to be.'

'I'm sure you'll find a _Viingsoskiin.' _Echo reached across the table and briefly squeezed Sha's hand. 'But sometimes we all have to wait for the things we want. Look at me. I spent years of my life wading through Black Marsh, making a living by selling plants, for the Hist's sake. All that time, I knew I could amount to something more, and I wanted to amount to more, but it took me eighteen years to actually do it. But then I found the Dragonhearts, and I found my place, and I realised that the wait had been worth it.'

'Sometimes we have to wait,' Lorn murmured, in his soft, thoughtful voice, 'so that we fully appreciate the things we've been waiting for when we finally get them.' He paused before adding, 'And sometimes we're better off for having waited.'

Sha knew that they were right, but she didn't really feel as if she was in the mood for philosophy. Her discussion about the meanings of fate and destiny with Odahviing had already been confusing enough.

'I'll tell you what you need to do,' Echo said suddenly, her mouth curving upwards into a wide grin. 'You need to talk to your mother.'

Sha blinked and frowned. 'What about?'

'About getting out there more often.' Echo paused for a moment to shovel down a mouthful of venison before explaining, 'I don't blame A'jira at all for wanting to keep you safe. I don't think she wants you to go through what she had to at your age. But so far, she's never let you go on a mission that might actually have turned dangerous. I don't want to speak ill of your mother, Sha, but that's the truth.'

For a moment, Sha considered this, running through a mental checklist of all the missions she'd been on. Echo was right, she realised suddenly. She'd never actually been put in harm's way.

'If I go up to Ma,' Sha said slowly, 'and ask to be put in danger more often, I don't think she's going to be pleased.'

Lorn shook his head. 'What you need to do is this,' he told her. 'Just ask to be allowed out more often. Don't specifically request more dangerous missions - just ordinary, routine tasks. And gradually everyone will come to realise what you're capable of, and they'll trust you with more dangerous duties. And before you come of age, you'll be battling rogue dragons and risking your life along with all the rest of us.'

Sha stared at the elf for a moment, trying to work out whether that final sentence was a joke.

'I think they're right, Sha,' she heard Arnor say suddenly.

''Course they're right.' Sha glanced around in surprise – Duroth hardly ever spoke up when halfway through a meal. The Orc shrugged at her, his mouth still half full of potato. 'Your ma was sixteen when she saved the world. It's about time you started seeing some of the action.'

'Nobody will know what you're capable of until you show them.' Echo gave Sha a small nudge. 'A'jira knows you're growing up. She'll understand. Ask her.'

'Ask me what?' said a quiet voice.

The entire company twisted around in their seats, with the exception of Duroth, who continued assaulting his steak. A grin flashed across Sha's face, though she felt a sudden pang of nervousness. Her parents were standing behind her, both gazing at her with quizzical expressions stamped on their faces.

When people saw Sha and A'jira together for the first time, they almost inevitably made a comment about how much they looked like each other. There had been a time when Sha found it annoying, but now that she was older and a little more mature it didn't trouble her – mostly because it was completely true. A'jira had the same pale grey and black tabby fur and amber eyes as Sha, and the two were almost identical in height and build. The only differences between them were the patterns of their stripes. Sha had more spots on her forehead and fewer black lines on her neck, and there was an ice-white streak that passed between Sha's ears and went partway down her nose. Duroth often joked that she looked like someone had thrown a snowball at her and it had never fallen off.

Sha had a theory that the reason she looked so much like her mother was that it was physically impossible for her to look anything like her father. Zaran-Ra, or Zaran as everyone who knew him called him, had scales of emerald green, eyes of a slightly lighter shade, reddish-orange feathering that stretched down the length of his neck, and generally looked as un-Khajiit as it was possible for any living creature to be – not, of course, that Sha and A'jira minded. Unlike A'jira, who could usually be counted on to be dressed in either a loose tunic and breeches that allowed her free movement or her famous dragonscale armour, Zaran went about his business clad in the pale blue and white robes of a mage.

It sometimes upset Sha, just a little, that people seldom saw that she had just as much in common with her father as she did with her mother, although might have inherited her race, her appearance and her _dovah _blood from A'jira. She looked like her mother. But a lot of the time, she thought like her father.

She wished he knew what he was thinking now, as he gazed levelly at her, his head tilted slightly to one side and his expression unreadable. That was the problem with having an Argonian father without actually being an Argonian herself. Their faces were a little hard to read, even for Sha, who'd been living around them ever since she was born. And her father was so Gods-damn good at hiding what he was really thinking…

What he was thinking – and what A'jira was thinking, for that matter – depended, Sha realised, on how much of the conversation they'd overheard. Her mother's question hinted that they'd only heard the last bit.

_Why am I so worried about what they think? _Sha shouted at herself suddenly. _It's not as if I've done anything to be ashamed of, wanting to be allowed to handle more dangerous tasks for once – _

Before she could gather her thoughts into any kind of order, she heard Echo speak. 'Ask you if she can come with Duroth and me to Ancient's Ascent this afternoon.'

Sha's head spun around to face her cousin. The word, 'what?' was forming on her lips when she understood what the Argonian was trying to do, and she quickly fell silent and turned to gaze hopefully at her mother.

She half expected for her mother to glower at them and launch into a rant in which she suspected the words 'completely out of the question,' would come up, but to her surprise, her mother simply raised her eyebrows and said, 'I thought Lorn was going with you.'

'I was.' Lorn shrugged. 'Vulqostrun's been hunting this morning. He's tired.'

'Tired?' A'jira echoed, sounding slightly incredulous. Sha didn't blame her. Dragons had vast stamina, and even if Vulqostrun _had _been tired, she highly doubted the proud Storm Dragon would have mentioned it. But A'jira didn't seem to question the explanation. 'All right. Why do you want to go?'

Sha waited for someone to answer, then suddenly realised who her mother was talking to. 'Me?'

'No, I'm looking at you because I was hoping Duroth would answer me.' A'jira was grinning, and Sha grinned back. Suddenly she realised that it didn't matter if her mother had overheard the entire conversation, or if she didn't believe Lorn's excuse, or even if she didn't want to let Sha join Echo's mission. She was Sha's _mother, _for the Divines' sakes.

Remembering that she'd been asked a question, Sha replied, 'I just haven't been off the mountain for a while. Echo told me that she was going on a mission –' Sha briefly crossed her fingers under the table – 'And I wondered if I could go with her.'

A'jira's brow furrowed slightly. 'Did Echo tell you what she's doing at Ancient's Ascent?'

'I didn't get round to that, but that's easily rectified,' Echo shrugged. Turning to Sha, she explained, 'There's an Ancient Dragon named Vulgrahskein living there. Very fierce, very proud, and very powerful. He definitely isn't Dragonheart material, and we know for a fact he used to follow Alduin. So every few months we check the surrounding area to make sure he's not been getting up to any mischief.'

'By mischief, I take it you mean rampaging across Skyrim, burning down farms and slaughtering innocent people?' Sha asked.

'That's the general idea.' Echo picked up her mug of snowberry juice, swilled the contents around inside for a moment, then downed it in a few quick gulps. 'Nothing particularly exciting, but nothing particularly dangerous, either.'

'Then why does it need six Dragonhearts?' Sha asked, then instantly regretted it. If she let her mother think that the task was dangerous...

'In case Vulgrahskein doesn't take kindly to having strange dragons flying around his territory.' It was Sha's father who spoke, a small smile on his face. 'But it's not because three dragons and three mortals stand a better chance of surviving if attacked – it's because Vulgrahskein would have to be a fool to think he stood a chance against so many. He wouldn't risk it.'

Sha didn't miss the fact that he turned his head slightly as he spoke, directing the final sentence at A'jira. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from letting out a delighted cheer. Within the softly spoken words was a message that, to Sha and probably to A'jira too, was completely clear: _There's no danger. Let her go._

Sha's amber eyes darted back and forth between her parents, and just for a moment, she saw something flicker in her mother's face – something that looked like… Sha blinked and looked again. Had that been a glimmer of pain?

But a second later, she was certain that she'd imagined it, because A'jira smiled and said, 'You'd better take one of the _Vothnigrin.'_

_Yes! _Sha had to fight to contain the urge to leap to her feet, punch the air and scream her delight to the entire room. It was the first time her mother had let her go on a mission because she'd asked to go.

Forcing herself to remain in her seat, but making no attempt to stop herself from beaming, Sha nodded. 'Which one?'

A'jira frowned thoughtfully. The _Vothnigrin – _the 'without-bond' – were what the dragons, and soon the mortal Dragonhearts too, had taken to calling the dragons who lived at High Hrothgar but hadn't yet found Wingsiblings. At the moment, there were only three – Daandugram, a male Blood Dragon, an unusually jumpy Elder named Kroneirvild, and a recent arrival, a she-dragon named Niirahsuven. She was one of a rare breed, a _Ven-Dovah _or Wind Dragon, and hadn't yet taken the Dragonheart Oath.

'I've not seen Daandugram for a while,' Lorn chipped in. 'I saw him flying off earlier. I think he went hunting.'

'That rules out him, then.' Zaran ran a hand through his head feathers, as he often did when thinking. 'And Niirahsuven's still a little inexperienced.'

A'jira made a small 'mm' sound in agreement. 'Yes, I think you'd better go with Kroneirvild. If he doesn't want to go, maybe one of the Wingsiblings would take you.' It was rare for the dragons of High Hrothgar to allow another mortal to ride them after they'd found a _Vingsoskiin, _but sometimes it was necessary.

'I'm sure Vulqostrun wouldn't mind taking you,' Lorn offered.

A'jira's eyebrows lifted again. 'Is that so? I thought he was tired.'

Sha heard Duroth let out a snort.

'I'll go and ask Kroneirvild now.' A'jira placed a hand on Sha's shoulder for a moment, then turned and hurried away.

Sha watched her leave, her eyes wide. She did not move until her parents had both vanished behind the door and it had swung shut behind them.

Then she leapt out of her seat and let out a euphoric yowl. Gods, she _loved _being a Khajiit, and being able to make sounds like that. Sometimes words were inadequate to express what exactly you were feeling.

'Someone's happy,' Arnor remarked, looking up at her and grinning.

Sha's smile faltered. 'Arnor, I'm sorry. I should've asked if you could come too-'

'Nah, I'm fine.' Arnor waved a hand carelessly. 'Honestly, Sha, I don't mind. I don't _want _to go.'

'Why wouldn't you want to-'

Again, the Nord cut across her. 'Because I've spent the entire morning trying to produce that Shout and I'm wiped out, that's why. I don't have the energy to go fighting Ancient Dragons.'

For a moment, Sha stared at her best friend through narrowed amber eyes, trying to work out whether or not Arnor was lying to her to make her feel less guilty. But the look on the Nord girl's face was, as far as Sha could see, completely genuine. A wave of relief and gratitude crashed over her.

'We're not going to be doing any fighting,' Sha said, slipped back down into her seat. 'But it's a start, isn't it? Ma's never let me do anything like this before.'

'I warn you, I doubt it'll be anything all that exciting.' Echo shovelled down a final mouthful of venison and dropped her knife and fork down onto her plate. 'I've checked up on Vulgrahskein plenty of times and he's never yet done anything out of line.'

'We're not town guards for _dov, _Echo,' Lorn reminded her gently. 'We're not meant to keep them in order, just to prevent them from hurting anyone.'

Duroth shrugged. 'Well, if this Vulgrahskein's not been hurting anyone, all the best for all of us. And if he has, then we get him in order. Simple.'

Echo rose to her feet. 'All right. We leave in an hour; that way we've plenty of time to get to Ancient's Ascent and back before nightfall. Duroth, get your armour and call Juskahrath. Sha…' Echo frowned. 'You don't have your own armour, do you?'

Sha shook her head. 'I guess I could borrow an old set off someone.'

'There'll be some small enough to fit you around here somewhere.' Echo rubbed her hands together in a businesslike manner. 'Just be out in the courtyard and ready to go in an hour.'

Feeling her grin widening still further, Sha nodded.

'I will be,' she promised. And then, quietly, and more to herself than to Echo, she repeated the words, her face suddenly growing serious. 'I will be.'

* * *

A'jira of the Tygra, daughter of Shavir, descendant of J'shana, Dragonborn of Skyrim, left the dining room, closed the door, took two businesslike steps forward and stopped dead.

She stood without speaking or moving for a moment, and only stirred when she felt a familiar hand touch hers. She clutched it tightly, savouring the comfort of the feeling of the cool scales through her fur.

'She'll be all right,' she heard Zaran murmur. 'You know she will.'

A'jira breathed in deeply, and managed to nod. 'I know. And she knows. I don't know if she knows I know, but I know.'

Zaran snorted.

'It is _not funny.' _A'jira swallowed, rather more forcefully than normal. 'I can't stand the thought of anything happening to her. When I think about everything we went through when we were her age – '

'Yes, well, we didn't have anyone to point out how dangerous it all was apart from Paarthurnax and Odahviing, and they were fairly insistent that it was our destiny.' Zaran shrugged. 'I'm sure if our parents had been able to see what we were getting ourselves into they'd have been just as distressed.'

A'jira turned to her husband, her eyes serious. 'Zaran, do you think I'm being overly protective of her?'

'Not overly. Not at all. You're being _understandably_ protective. Anyway, I can hardly be absolved of blame. I don't want anything to happen to her either, and I've been keeping her here just as much as you have.' He sighed. 'But we have to face facts. Our little dragon is going to have to fly the nest someday.'

A'jira nodded, her throat feeling suddenly tight. 'Yes. And I think she's just tried out her wings for the first time.'

Zaran slipped his arm around her shoulders. 'She'll be fine. Echo and Duroth will look after her.'

'She doesn't need looking after.' A'jira couldn't stop a hint of pride from creeping into her voice. 'She's become a great fighter.' She remembered how upset Sha had been when, aged about seven, she had realised that she had no real talent for the bow. A'jira couldn't deny, even now, that she had been disappointed. The first J'shana had been an archer. A'jira's father had been an archer. A'jira was an archer. As far as she knew, almost all of the Tygra clan had been archers. But that disappointment was soon forgotten when A'jira saw how skilled Sha was with a blade. There was no doubt that her daughter was growing into a dangerous warrior.

'And it's time we let her prove that to everyone.' Zaran squeezed her hand. 'Come on. Let's go and talk to Kroneirvild.'

A'jira let him lead her out into the courtyard, her head still spinning slightly, but her thoughts starting to clear.

She knew she'd done the right thing. Sha was growing up. She was sixteen now, and hadn't A'jira saved the world at the same age? And secretly, she believed that Sha was far more mature and far less naïve than she had been at sixteen.

She couldn't keep Sha safe and protected any longer. Her daughter, her little dragon, was preparing to leave the nest, just as Zaran had said. And very soon, she would step over to the edge and jump.

A'jira just hoped that Sha would fly.

* * *

**Wow, it feels weird to be writing about A'jira and Zaran again after all this time. ****They've grown up quite a bit (and so have I) so writing them is very different to how it was before, but I ****have to say it's nice to see them again, and I hope those of you who've read _Night Eye _think the same. **

**The Wind Dragon breed was created by me. Also, even though he was only mentioned in this chapter and didn't actually appear in person, I think I should mention now that Lorn's Wingbrother, Vulqostrun, is the only character here who's not my OC. He belongs to ShoutFinder, and I hope the role he'll be playing in the story does him justice, because he's a pretty awesome dragon.**

**Because this story is going to be one of those ones with quite a few characters, I decided it might help if I posted a list of all the members of the Dragonhearts – at least, those of them who a) have names and b) who play parts in the story. So here's a list for anyone who's interested. Some are pretty minor characters who might not even get a speaking line, but here they all are anyway:**

**THE DRAGONHEARTS:**

**Mortals:**

**A'jira Tygra – Female Khajiit, Dragonborn (Wingsister to Laaskriiah)**

**Zaran-Ra (Zaran) – Male Argonian (Wingbrother**** to **Kestmaarnah)

**Ilien Fethris – Male Dark Elf (Wingbrother**** to **Fodiiniiz)

**Listens-To-Echoes (Echo) – Female Argonian (Wingsister**** to **Vithmulsah)

**Ilornias (Lorn) – Male High Elf (Wingbrother**** to **Vulqostrun)

**Andelm Eagle-Heart – Male Nord (Wingbrother to Riikluhrax)**

**Sviri Eagle-Heart – Female Nord (Wingsister to Ahlokkrin)**

**Firlaen – Female Wood Elf (Wingsister to Nahzahkriiyol)**

**Duroth gro-Murgak – Male Orc (Wingbrother to Juskahrath)**

**J'shana Tygra II (Sha) – Female Khajiit**

**Arnor Eagle-Heart – Female Nord**

**Tholund Storm-Shield – Male Nord**

**Drusus Botellus – Male Imperial**

**(Plus some unnamed others with very little relevance to the story.)**

**Dragons:**

**Odahviing – Male red dragon ('Snow Hunter Wing')**

**Laaskriiah – Female elder dragon (Wingsister to A'jira, 'Life Kill Hunter')**

**Kestmaarnah – Female frost dragon (Wingsister to Zaran-Ra, 'Tempest Terror Fury')**

**Fodiiniiz – Male frost dragon (Wingbrother to Ilien, 'Frost Freeze Ice')**

**Vithmulsah – Male serpentine dragon (Wingbrother, to Listens-To-Echoes, 'Serpent Strong Phantom')**

**Vulqostrun – Male storm dragon (Wingbrother to Ilornias, 'Dark Lightning Storm')**

**Nahzahkriiyol – Male blood dragon (Wingbrother to Firlaen, 'Fury Sword Fire')**

**Riikluhrax – Male ancient dragon (Wingbrother to Andelm, 'Gale Magic Tooth')**

**Ahlokkrin – Female ancient dragon (Wingsister to Sviri, 'Hunter Sky Courage')**

**Juskahrath – Male fire dragon (Wingbrother to Duroth, 'Claw Hunter River')**

**Daandugram – Male blood dragon ('Doom Devourer Cloud')**

**Kroneirvild – Male elder dragon ('Conquer Bronze Rock')**

**Niirahsuven –Female wind dragon ('Echo Air Wind')**

**Next chapter, the team will be setting out to Ancient's Ascent. I'll see you all then!**


	5. The Serpent's Story

**I'm so sorry this took so long. I have the worst and most serious exams of my life coming up, and I have to revise so much it's really not funny. You could say it's a bit stupid of me to being writing a story when I have this going on, but I'll be honest, writing is keeping me sane right now.**

**There's quite a bit of dialogue in this chapter that I left in Draconic. It can easily be read without knowing what all of it means, but if you want to know all the details, use the translator at www. thuum . org**

**So, apologies for the wait, and here's the next chapter! **

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CHAPTER FOUR – THE SERPENT'S STORY

Like those of all the Dragonhearts, Sha Tygra's room was small, but she had never found that to be a problem. It didn't need to be any bigger than it was. It didn't contain much – a bed, a small table and a stool, a wardrobe for her clothes, and a chet in which she kept most of her possessions. Those possessions mostly consisted of books, and random keepsakes she had collected over the years – a scale from her mother's Wingsister, Laaskriiah, a small woven wristband that her father's mother had sent her all the way from Black Marsh as a present on her tenth birthday, an Amulet of Talos that Sha had found in a bandit camp on her first ever Dragonheart mission.

Sha rummaged through her clothes chest, pulling out a light, long-sleeved tunic that could be worn beneath armour. Most of the Dragonhearts wore either dragonscale or dragonbone; it provided them with more protection than metal, it was light, and the resources to make it could be easily obtained from any dragons that were slain on missions. Sha's mother constantly maintained that any fallen dragon should be treated with respect, but everyone – even the dragons - agreed that once a _dovah _was dead, their scales were of no use to it.

Andelm, Arnor's father, was the Dragonhearts' smith, and most days he could be seen at the forge he'd built in a corner of the courtyard, weaving scale and bone and metal and leather together, often with his Wingbrother, Riikluhrax, crouched beside him, keeping his forge burning hot. Sha had been asking for her own set of armour for years, but the answer was almost always, 'Wait until you've stopped growing.' Sha guessed that for this mission, she'd be given a spare set. She understood that Andelm wouldn't want to waste time and scales making armour she was only going to grow out of. Although, truth to be told, Sha very much doubted she was going to grow any taller than she was.

She changed quickly, fumbling with the string that tied up the neck of the tunic, before glancing around her room to see if there was anything else she needed. She couldn't think of anything she would need apart from her sword, and that was where it almost always was, in its sheath at her side. She glanced down at it, and then, on impulse, drew it and held it up to the flickering lamplight. The reflections of orange flames shuddered over the blade.

Sha had used several different weapons throughout her lifetime, steadily growing out of old ones and into new ones. She'd been using this sword since she was fourteen. It was nothing special; plain steel with an unadorned hilt bound with leather strips, but it was well-made, light, and easy to swing. Near the handle were three Draconic letters that spelt out the name of the weapon – _Nos, _the Dragon word for _strike. _Sha firmly believed that a weapon's name should be like the weapon itself; simple and to the point.

She gazed at her reflection in the steel for a moment, then tucked it back into its sheath. She doubted she would have to use it today, but she hoped that she would be ready if she needed to.

She breathed in a long, slow, deep breath, and hurried out of the room.

Echo and Duroth were already waiting for her in the courtyard, along with Juskahrath and two other dragons Sha didn't know quite as well. The larger of the two was Echo's Wingbrother, a large, sinuous Serpentine Dragon named Vithmulsah, with the distinctive jutting lower jaw and smooth skin of all his kind, jet black in colour with patches of silver and blueish-white. Crouched on the snow a short distance away was a smaller dragon, an Elder, with scales of pale copper-gold. He was the same breed (Sha didn't really approve of using the word _breed _to describe dragons, as if they were dogs or horses rather than sentient creatures, but they never protested when someone used it) as her mother's Wingsister, Laaskriiah, but more compact in build; not as big, but more muscular. Someone who didn't know the dragons of High Hrothgar all that well might not have noticed those differences, but even a newcomer would have noticed this dragon's distinctive feature - a small patch of scales on his left shoulder that were tinted a reddish shade.

'_Drem yol lok, _Kroneirvild,' Sha called as she neared him.

The Elder Dragon inclined his head. 'Greetings, _Dovahloz.' _ He spread his wings, stretched them, and furled them again. 'We are to fly together, _nid?'_

'So I've been told.' Sha shrugged. She hadn't spoken to Kroneirvild much before; he was fairly new to the mountain. Still, she'd enjoyed the few conversations they'd had. In some ways, he reminded her of Arnor – a lot quieter than many dragons, thoughtful, and cautious. Dragons didn't seem to have the ability to be shy, but Kroneirvild came closer than any other of his kind she'd encountered yet.

'We'll be setting out in a minute, Sha. I think your mother's bringing you some armour.' Echo shouted the words over her shoulder as she strapped a leather bag around Vilthmulsah's neck. Sha had a feeling it contained supplies. A'jira had ordered some years ago that no Dragonhearts should leave the mountain without the provisions that would be needed to let them survive a few nights stranded in the wilderness, after a promising young warrior, Narja, and her Wingbrother Muldurstrun had been trapped in Winterhold for several days by a snowstorm that stopped the dragon from being able to fly safely. Without food or shelter, they had been too weak to offer much resistance to the group of trolls that ambushed them. Muldurstrun had made it back to High Hrothgar a week after he had left, Narja's body slung over his back, and had only enough time to explain what had happened before collapsing to die of his wounds. They had not been the first Dragonhearts to fall in the line of duty, but there had been a horrible pointlessness about their deaths, and ever since then it had been a rule that no warriors were to leave without being properly prepared.

Sha was fairly certain that this particular mission put them in no danger of following Narja and Muldurstrun's fates, but you could never be too careful. As her father often said, it was always better to hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

Duroth ran over to her, scattering snow as he came. 'Apparently your parents have a surprise for you. They told me not to tell you, but they should know better than to trust me with secrets by now.'

Sha giggled and rolled her eyes. 'There's this thing called hope, Duroth.'

'There's another thing called being realistic.'

'Your _monah _is coming, _Dovahloz.' _It was Vithmulsah who spoke, his voice deep and slightly hoarse; Sha suspected that the vicious pattern of scars that criss-crossed the base of his chin was something to do with the way he spoke. It looked nastily like another dragon had tried to tear his throat out.

Sha turned to see A'jira approaching, pushing through the snow with some difficulty. The snowstorm had been like almost all of those that struck the mountain – brief and heavy. It was safe for them to fly now that it had moved past them, but the carpet of snow on the ground was halfway to being knee-deep. You never really walked anywhere on the Throat of the World, Sha thought with amusement. You waded.

'There you are, Sha.' A'jira reached them at last, and Sha saw that her mother was cradling something in her arms; something fairly large and wrapped tightly in brown cloth. 'Are you ready to go?'

Sha patted the hilt of her sword. 'I've got everything I need except for some armour.'

'That's easily fixed.' A'jira knelt down, tried to sweep away some of the snow so that she could rest her package on the ground, and quickly gave up and simply dropped it. 'Andelm's been working on this for a while. I was going to wait until you were a little older to give it to you, but I think you'll be needing proper protection for this mission. Just in case. So I asked him to finish it off, and…' She shrugged, and finished her sentence not with words, but with a sweep of her hand, pulling the cloth aside to reveal what had been wrapped within it.

Sha felt her breath catch in her throat.

It was a set of dragonscale armour not unlike those worn by most of the others. The difference, though, that struck her immediately, was the colour. It was not the normal greenish-brown, but a pale golden-bronze that shimmered softly in the gentle sunlight. Sha knelt beside her mother and ran a hand over the rough, hard surface. She knew, without needing to test it, that it would have easily withstood the strongest blow she could have dealt it with Nos, probably denting or even breaking the blade.

'It's made from Elder Dragon scales, so it's tougher than most, and it should fit you well enough, but there's some growing room,' A'jira was saying, though Sha was only half listening. 'And it's strong. It'll resist dragonfire, frost and lightning, and most weapons. It's quite light, too, and you should be able to move quite easily. There'll be a helmet, too, Andelm's just putting the finishing touches on it but he doesn't think it'll be ready in time for-'

She never had a chance to finish her sentence, because Sha forcefully threw her arms around her. A'jira staggered for a moment, righted herself, and hugged her daughter tightly, a smile flickering into life on her face.

'Thanks, Ma,' Sha murmured, her eyes squeezing shut.

She heard her mother chuckle. 'Can't let you get your fur burned, can I?'

The two Khajiit broke apart, and a pair of identical amber eyes gazed into each other.

'_Kos ulaakei,'_ A'jira murmured_. 'Fey tirahk.'_

Sha rolled her eyes. She didn't need to be told to be careful, but she understood her mother's concern. 'I'll be fine, Ma.'

'You'd better be,' A'jira replied, and there was a look in her eyes Sha couldn't read.

A'jira helped Sha into her armour, buckling and fastening the leather straps and fitting the thick plates into place. It was surprisingly light, far lighter than Sha had expected, and definitely far less heavy than an identical set of armour made from metal would have been. She guessed that dragon scales needed to be light, to make sure that their owners could get off the ground. When the final few fastenings were in place, she took a step backwards and flexed her fingers, testing how flexible the gauntlets were, then stretched out her limbs.

'We're all set,' Echo announced. 'And yes, we've got supplies, though I doubt we'll need them. Permission to set out?'

A'jira swept her intense orange gaze over the six of them – Vithmulsah, standing silent and watchful, his grey eyes missing nothing, Echo, her green armour polished and her face determined, Juskahrath, his tail swishing eagerly from side to side, Duroth, his tusked face as impatient as his Wingbrother's, Kroneirvild, nervous but determined, and Sha, standing resolute and unwavering in her copper-gold armour.

'Granted,' A'jira said quietly.

'Prepare to depart.' Echo nodded to Vithmulsah, and the Serpentine lowered his neck and allowed her to leap gracefully up onto his back. Duroth and Juskahrath did the same; Kroneirvild looked awkwardly at Sha before ducking his head. Sha reached up, gripped the curved black horns, and swung herself up behind his head, shifting slightly until she found a comfortable position between the small spines.

She'd ridden her parents' Wingsiblings, Laaskriiah and Kestmaarnah, on several occasions before. And so she was expecting the rush of air and burst of sound as Kroneirvild lifted his bronze and cream coloured wings at the sound of Vithmulsah's sharp, commanding growl of, '_Wah fin lok!' _But the lurch as the wings came down, jerking them up and off the ground, was still enough to make her body jolt so that she was thrown forwards for a moment – but by the time she had steadied herself, the three dragons were already at the top of their rise, having lifted clear from the courtyard and the cliffs surrounding it, and already her mother and the other Dragonhearts who stood outside were dwindling to blurs, then to dots, and then to specks. And then the fierce flapping stopped, and as one, Vithmulsah, Juskahrath and Kroneirvild spread their wings wide and let the wind bear them upwards and away from the mountain.

And then there was nothing but the sky, the beautiful, endless sky. Nothing to hold them back, only empty air, above them, below them, all around them. Forests and mountains were shrinking to blurs of green and grey and white, rivers becoming thin ribbons of reflected light. Turning her head, Sha could see High Hrothgar nestling in the shadow of the summit of the Throat of the World, but it already seemed impossibly far away.

'_Bo sedin. _We fly south!' Vithmulsah's long, supple form twisted and turned in the air, one wing dropping, the other one lifting, and the wind carrying him to the left. The world shifted sideways as Kroneirvild did the same, banking gracefully southwards before levelling off. Vithmulsah growled again in Draconic, and the three dragons dropped into formation, with Vithmulsah leading, Kroneirvild behind him and slightly to the left, Juskahrath to the right.

They flew south for some time, passing between the towns of Riverwood and Ivarstead. At the first sight of the village of Reathwind, they swerved to the east. The journey was uneventful, apart from a distant sighting of as dragon flying in the direction of Whiterun, but it did not approach them, and they stayed well clear of it.

'We're entering Vulgrahskein's hunting grounds,' Echo announced, not long after their eastward turn. 'Fly lower. Keep an eye out for him and for any signs that he's been preying on mortals or livestock. Burned houses, depleted herds and flocks, smouldering heaps of rubble that used to be villages… subtle things like that.'

'So, tell us more about this Vulgrahskein,' Duroth said, letting go of Juskahrath's horns with one hand so that he could twist around and speak to Echo more easily. 'Are we expecting trouble?'

'I don't think so. I've been on plenty of these sorts of missions. We probably won't even see Vulgrahskein, and in fact, it's better if we don't. We're just meant to make sure he's not been getting up to anything. If there are signs that he's been hunting mortals, we go to his lair and give him a warning. If we find him at it again, we send a small fighting force to teach him a lesson. And if he doesn't change his ways, we'll have no choice but to kill him. That's how it works for all dragons nowadays.'

Kroneirvild muttered something, in Draconic and too quietly for Sha to make out the words. Whatever they were, they made Vulgrahskein turn to him sharply, with a low growl.

'It is what must be done!' the Serpentine hissed. 'If _joorre _and _dovahhe _prey upon each other, we shall destroy each other. The Dragon War proved that, if nothing else. Now that _dov _has returned for good, we must live in _drem _with mortals, or one of us must wipe out the other. Our kin must learn to control their rage. I know that better than any.'

'How?' Juskahrath demanded.

Sha saw Echo wince, and Vithmulsah's face froze for a second. Juskahrath and Duroth really did make a perfect pair of Wingbrothers – they were both so _Gods-damn tactless…_

'If you wish to know, _zeymah,' _Vithmulsah said slowly, 'I shall tell.'

Vithmulsah was silent for a moment. Echo removed one hand from his crest and placed it on the side of his neck, as if trying to comfort him. The Serpentine Dragon closed his eyes briefly before beginning to speak in a slow, heavy voice.

'In the days of old, I was, like many of the _dovahhe, _a follower of Alduin. From the moment of my hatching I was his _aar, _his servant. I fought in the _Keinsedovahhe, _the Dragon War, and I fought _vothni aaz. _Without mercy.'

Sha couldn't suppress a shudder. She'd heard tales of the Dragon War, and she'd read books describing its horrors. The enslavement of men, mer and beastfolk by the dragons and their priests, the countless mortals who had died at the flames and claws of dragons, the terrible battles between _joor_ and _dovah _that had shaken all Tamriel… It made for chilling reading.

She knew that only the oldest of the dragons of High Hrothgar had fought in the Dragon War, but she wasn't certain which ones they were exactly. Many of the dragons preferred to keep their backgrounds a secret, probably because they had committed such brutal acts in the past. Laaskriiah was fairly open about her story, but as far as Sha knew, she had very little to be ashamed of. Some of the others, though – Riikluhrax and Fodiiniiz, for example – never said a word about what had happened in their lives before coming to the Throat of the World. Sha was more than a little surprised that Vithmulsah was confessing his past now.

'Alduin trusted me.' Vithmulsah's voice became still more sombre. 'He had many followers, and he only knew the _forre, _the names, of the strongest and most fearsome. He knew mine.' He let out a soft growl. '_Vith mul sah. _Serpent strong phantom, in the tongue of _joorre. _A fitting name for one such as I, who had the cunning of a snake, enough power in his _thu'um_ to break rock, and who would attack and then vanish like a ghost. I led many such attacks on the _joorre. _I killed _tiinu stahraalle, _countless innocents. Even now I sometimes look at my _juskke, _my talons, and am surprised to see they are not still stained _sahqo _with the blood of your kin.' His gaze was fixed on Sha and Duroth as he spoke, and Sha saw pain and bitter regret in the round grey eyes.

'I fell during the great battle that led to Alduin's _viik, _his defeat,' Vithmulsah went on. '_Pogaan kriian. _I slew many mortals in that _grah, _before falling at the hand of Gormlaith Golden-Hilt. Her blade cast me into _dinok, _and I knew no more for hundreds of years.'

'And that was when Alduin was thrown forwards in _tiid,' _Kroneirvild said. 'The _bronne, _the Nords – they used the _Kel.'_

_Kel _was one of the first words of Draconic that Sha had ever learned, after _dovah, Dovahkiin, kaaz and Keizaal. _She murmured its meaning under her breath. 'An Elder Scroll.'

Vithmulsah inclined his head. '_Geh, _and it was not until that Alduin emerged from the currents of time that I was awakened. I was one of the first to be returned to _laas, _to life, for Alduin wished to make use of my strength in battle. And so once again I became a bringer of _dinok _and _daan. _I believed that Alduin would never fall, that _Taazokaan _would be taken for the dragons. And even when the first _kaaz Dovahkiin _defeated him, I sensed, as many of my kind did, that he was not truly gone. I waited, in hiding but in faith, for my _in, _my master, to return.'

'And he did,' Sha said quietly.

'_Rok drey,' _Vithmulsah affirmed. 'My loyalty to him had not been weakened by my wait. _Hen beneruvosse, _five centuries, is little to a _dovah. _For a second time I regained my position as his lieutenant. I truly believed, _zahreik, hah ahrk sil, _that this time, we would be _krongrahkei_.'

'Victorious,' Sha translated. 'Except Ma came along.'

'Less than a _keyal,_ a week, had passed before it happened.' Sha wondered if the strange new tone in the Serpentine's voice was anger. 'It seemed Akatosh had prepared for Alduin's return. He sent your _monah _to Keizaal, and she ventured into Sovngarde and destroyed him utterly.'

Duroth made a small noise of satisfaction, and Sha glared at him. Of course she was glad, not to mention proud, that her mother had defeated the World-Eater, but still… there really was such thing as tact, and Duroth needed more of it.

'I felt his death. I felt it within me, like claws in my _zahreik._ I had not gone to the _monahven _as so many others did. I believed that the _Dovahkiin _had no hope of victory, that there was no need to wait in order to find out whether she or Alduin survived, because his triumph was the only option.' Vithmulsah let out a spitting sound. 'But then I felt the tearing within me, and I knew beyond doubt that somehow the _Dovahkiin _had won.'

'What did you do?' Sha asked, despite the fact that the Serpentine's miserable expression warned her that he clearly wasn't proud of the answer.

'I fled.' Vithmulsah spat out the words as if they tasted sour. 'I was _krent… _broken by the loss of my master. I was lost without a _thur _to give commands. I hid in the mountains in the south, only emerging to _nir, _to hunt. And I did not care what I hunted. I was beyond caring. I had turned _fel__.'_

'_Fel?' _Duroth repeated, sounding puzzled, and to her frustration, Sha found that she either didn't know the meaning of the word, or had forgotten it.

'Feral,' Echo told them. Her voice was soft and pained. 'He hardly even knew who he was any more.'

Vithmulsah growled. 'It was far worse than that. I no longer cared who I was. My _lahney, _my life, was like a dream, without purpose, without understanding. I hunted any animal that came near me – _sunvaarre _and _joor _alike. There were times when – '

'Until he met A'jira,' Echo said suddenly, breaking across him.

'_Niirah, _let me tell them the full truth.' Vithmulsah's tone was firm, allowing no argument. 'I take no _kah, _no pride in what I did, but it must be said.'

Echo frowned, looking worried, but she nodded.

'There were times,' Vithmulsah repeated, 'when other _dovahhe _would stray onto what I had decided was my territory. I would hunt them. My own kind. Kill them. _Nahkip nau slen do dii fron.'_

Sha's eyes widened, and she couldn't stop a small gasp from escaping her. She glanced at Duroth, Juskahrath and Kroneirvild, and saw that they looked as shocked as she felt.

'What stopped you?' Duroth asked. He sounded more serious and more shaken than Sha had ever heard him.

'The _Dovahkiin._' Vithmulsah gave his tail a small lash. 'She heard that there was a _fel dovah _in the southern mountains, and she and _Niirah _came to find me and defeat me before I could shed any more _sos.'_

_Niirah _was the Draconic for 'echo,' and naturally that was what Vithmulsah called his Wingsister. For some reason _dov _seemed to have a problem with calling mortals by their names. To them, A'jira was always _Dovahkiin, _Zaran always _Ziiahkrin, _which meant_ '_courageous spirit,' and Sha, of course, _Dovahloz _or occasionally _Dovahkiir. _Most of the others were always referred to by the dragon word for their race, or as _fahdon, _which meant 'friend,' _zeymah _or _briinah, '_brother' and 'sister,' or simply _joor. _It was unusual for Vithmulsah to call Echo by her name, even in Draconic, but then none of the other dragons addressed her that way.

'They came for me, and of course I attacked. _Hrenon imzik mul, _madness made me strong, but they were two and I was one, and I had not fed in days. I was struck a crippling blow. Weakened, unable to fly, I fled to my lair and curled up in the shadows to wait for _dinok. _But then they came. _Niirah _and the _Dovahkiin _found me when I was _sahlo ahrk hiinu… _weak and helpless. I expected them to finish me, but they did not. They comforted me, asked why I had turned _fel, _and tended my wounds_. _It was the first time in my life someone had shown me any kindness.'

'And that was how you joined the Dragonhearts?' Sha asked.

'I returned to the _Monahven _with them,' Vithmulsah said with a nod, 'and I began to learn their ways. It was not easy for me to leave behind the ways of the _fel dovah, _but their patience and Odahviing's wisdom brought me through. I have not fully banished the _vokun _inside me. Sometimes I feel the urge to destroy, as all my kind do. But I hope that I shall never answer that call again.'

Echo smiled and patted the side of his neck. 'You won't, Vith. You're better than that.'

'_Atum!' _Juskahrath barked out suddenly.

Every head turned sharply downwards, and Sha saw a Dunmer man standing some way below them, standing beside a solitary farmhouse surrounded by small fields. That was nothing particularly remarkable, except that he was holding his hands crossed above his head, his fists clenched. It was a signal that had been introduced not long after the founding of the Dragonhearts; a way for people on the ground to signal to any passing aerial patrols. Echo nodded to them, and as one the three dragons swooped downwards, sweeping low over the ground and landing neatly in front of the elf.

Echo gestured for Duroth and Sha to remain seated, but slipped off Vithmulsah's neck and dropped down to the ground. 'Greetings,' she said, with a small dip of her head.

'Greetings. Do you have a moment?' Even from a distance, Sha could see that the Dark Elf's crimson eyes were clouded with worry.

'Dragon problem?' Echo asked.

'Um, yes.'

'Anyone been killed?'

Looking rather surprised at Echo's bluntness, the elf shook his head. 'No mortals, no. But something's been picking off my cattle.'

'What makes you think it's a dragon?'

'Mostly the arm-long claw marks I keep finding in the ground,' the Dunmer said dryly. 'That and the fact that the fence is too high for anything to get over it without breaking it or leaving some mark that they'd climbed it.'

Echo nodded slowly. 'There's a dragon lair quite near you, isn't there?'

'That there is. I've seen the monster around a fair few times. Big brute. Reddish coloured.'

Sha heard Kroneirvild let out a soft growl, and she glared at the Dunmer. Dragons weren't monsters or brutes, any more than mortals were. It was just that some of them acted like it, and the same was true of people.

'Vulgrahskein,' Echo muttered. 'All right. We'll look into it. If your livestock are still being killed, send a courier to High Hrothgar. We'll do something about it.'

'Can't you kill the beast and have done with it?'

Juskahrath growled along with Kroneirvild this time, and Sha almost did the same.

'Not unless we give him a warning and he refuses to take it.' Echo turned and placed her hands on Vithmulsah's crest, ready to pull herself back up.

'We don't exist to kill dragons,' Sha said, before she could stop herself. 'We're here to protect people – and that includes both mortals and _dovahhe. _Our duty is to bring balance, not death._'_

The elf stared at her for a moment. Sha wondered if he recognised her; everyone in Skyrim, she suspected, knew that the Dragonborn had a daughter, and that she was a grey-furred, amber-eyed Khajiit. It looked a little like he was about to come up with a retort, but Echo cut across him.

'Thank you for your time,' she said politely, and leaped back up behind Vithmulsah's head.

'_Vok,' _Vithmulsah growled, and he, Juskahrath and Kroneirvild thrust their huge wings down against the air, jerking upwards into the sky once again.

'What an idiot,' Sha snapped forcefully, the moment they were out of the farmer's earshot.

'No more so than most of _Keizaal, Dovahloz,' _Vithmulsah told her, his hoarse voice gentle. 'Our kind have done little to gain the trust of _joorre. _It will be many years before they learn to see us as equals. His anger is _mindoraantok. _Understandable.'

From Juskahrath and Kroneirvild's expressions, Sha was fairly certain they didn't agree with the elder Serpentine, but they said nothing.

'Killing cattle isn't anywhere near as serious as harming a person,' Echo announced, 'but we should still look into it. It can lead to more serious attacks. It's a small step from carrying off a farmer's livestock to carrying off his children.'

Vithmulsah made a small noise of agreement. '_Bahlok wahl nax. _In times when prey is scarce, a _dovah _becomes dangerous.'

Sha knew from the bitter tone in his voice that he was speaking from experience.

'We'll have to go to Ancient's Ascent,' Echo decided. 'We'll give Vulgrahskein a warning and leave it at that.'

'We must approach from the front,' Vithmulsah said. 'His anger will be terrible if he thinks we are trying to _iidah nol undin_, attack from behind.'

Echo turned around, fixing Duroth, Sha, Kroneirvild and Juskahrath with an intense yellow stare. 'Let Vithmulsah and I do the talking. If Vulgrahskein proves difficult, you may have to fight. Be ready.'

Sha felt her hand drop instinctively to Nos's hilt. It was oddly refreshing to hear someone tell her to be ready to fight – not to stay out of trouble, nor even to be careful, just to be ready.

_I'm ready, _she told herself firmly. _I am._

They flew at a medium height towards Ancient's Ascent – high enough for them to be able to move quickly, but low enough for Vulgrahskein to be able to see them coming easily. No dragon flew out to challenge them, though, as they neared the lair, and Sha felt her heartbeat quickening. In minutes, she could be encountering a strange dragon for the first time. She had seen them from afar on plenty of occasions, but never yet had she seen one up close. All her experience of dragons was limited to those who lived alongside her on the Throat of the World.

'_Bo krinil. _Fly low. Be wary.' Vithmulsah tilted his wings backwards slightly to slow himself. 'Say nothing that could offend him. _Kruziikke _are proud creatures.'

Duroth raised one eyebrow. 'All dragons are proud, I thought.'

'The Ancients especially. In the days of old, many served as Alduin's most trusted _kendovve. _I fought beside Vulgrahskein long ago. I did not know him well. But he was a fierce fighter. He has much _rahgol.'_

Sha raised her eyebrows. 'I'm surprised he's not come out here to ask us what we're doing.'

'As am I, _Dovahloz.' _Vithmulsah slowed further, then dropped down onto the ground. Kroneirvild and Juskahrath landed behind him. Sha leaned forwards and saw that they were standing on a path; a wide path that wove along the side of a cliff, with crumbling steps leading up the steepest parts.

'Perhaps he's out hunting,' Duroth suggested.

'If he was flying, he should have seen us,' Sha said. 'We weren't exactly hiding.'

Vithmulsah took a step forwards, stretching his long, snakelike neck out as far as it would go. Through the pines that stood packed together on either side of the path, Sha could just see a grey blur in the distance. Narrowing her eyes, she could make out its shape – a smooth, curved slab of stone. _A word wall, _she thought. But there was no sign of a dragon perched upon it, or anywhere near it.

'Vulgrahskein, _kruziik gein,' _Vithmulsah called, his hoarse voice echoing off the side of the cliff. _'Mu los faal Dovahzahreikke. Mu meyz het ko drem. Meyz veyl ahrk tinvaak voth mii!'_

His voice was easily loud enough to be heard by anyone close, but there was no reply, no answering roar.

'He must be hunting,' Echo decided. 'Or else he's decided prey's too scarce here and moved territories.'

Vithmulsah growled and lumbered forwards, heading towards the word wall. Sha saw Juskahrath and Kroneirvild glance at each other before following.

'Look.' Vithmulsah stopped as they reached the open space surrounding the wall, perhaps thinking that it would be disrespectful to walk into the other dragon's den. He gestured with his head towards a pile of fur and bones that lay in the snow. They looked as if they had once been parts of an elk. '_Fau kriiaan. _That is freshly killed. He has been here.'

Juskahrath nodded. 'That beast was killed _dahsul. _Today. Vulgrahskein should not have needed to go hunting again so soon.'

'And yet something made him leave.' Echo frowned. 'The fact that there's a dead animal proves that he didn't need to move territories; there's clearly prey here. I doubt he's hiding from us; that's not the dragon way. And there's no reason for him to have gone hunting.' She turned to look at Sha and Duroth. 'Has anyone else got the feeling that something's not right here?'

Vithmulsah was staring up at the sky, his grey eyes clouded with worry. Echo glanced down at him. 'Vith? Are you all right?'

The Serpentine was silent for a long moment. Then he spread his wings. 'We must return to the _Monahven_,' he announced. 'I must speak with Odahviing.'

Echo blinked, looking confused, and Duroth's brow furrowed. 'What for?'

Vithmulsah leaped into the air without even looking at the Orc. '_Aalkos folaas_. I do not wish to say for fear that I am wrong.'

Clearly not wanting to be left behind, Kroneirvild and Juskahrath both took to the air as well. By the time Sha and Kroneirvild had reached the same height as Vithmulsah, Ancient's Ascent was already a mere speck below them.

Sha turned to Duroth, and saw that he looked as confused as she felt. 'What do you reckon that was about?'

Juskahrath and Kroneirvild let out almost identical, puzzled-sounding growls.

'Vithmulsah is the eldest here,' Juskahrath said. 'Perhaps he recognised or remembered something that is _vofun, _unknown to us.'

'_Nid hiitir. _No matter. I am glad to be gone from that place.' A shudder ran through Kroneirvild's body, and Sha very nearly lost her seat. 'We must be _meyye, _to trespass in an Ancient's lair.'

Duroth shrugged. '_Meyye? _If we're fools, then we're fools with a duty do to foolish things.'

'I'm sorry your first unaccompanied-by-a-parent mission didn't turn out to be that exciting, Sha,' Echo called, as Vithmulsah dropped back so that they could speak.

'It's fine.' Sha waved a paw. 'You told me it probably wouldn't be. It's getting outside that counts.'

'You did well, you know.' Echo's face split into a smile. 'I know not much happened, but you were right to say what you did to that farmer.'

Sha grinned. 'I was actually just repeating something that Odahviing said to me.'

'It is always good to share _onikaan, _wisdom,' Vithmulsah told her. 'Even when some choose not to listen.' His gaze grew more intense. 'You have much wisdom of your own, _Dovahloz.'_

Sha stared at him for a moment, torn between thanking him and asking what he meant. But before she could say another word, the Serpentine gave two heavy flaps of his wings that carried him past her. His face was set, and his jutting jaw was clenched.

A frown clouding her face, Sha twisted around and peered at the rapidly shrinking shape of the mountain that hid the Ancient Dragon's lair.

Echo had been right, she decided. What with Vulgrahskein's absence, and Vithmulsah's obvious distress, it was clear… well, almost clear, that something was not right.

She had a distinct feeling that she had missed something. She only wished she knew what it was.

* * *

**I have no idea how what was two chapters in my plan is turning into four chapters when I write it. Ah well. **

**Sorry for the fact that not much happened in this chapter – the next one will see a lot more action, and several questions will be answered. **

**What do you guys think of Vithmulsah and his backstory? I know this chapter would have worked perfectly well without it, but I really wanted to add it, because it'll become significant in the next chapter…**

**A note about cities and towns – Since it's been 500 years since **_**Skyrim, **_**obviously the map's changed slightly. The most obvious changes (though they probably won't have much impact on the story) are as follows:**

**- A lot of the cities have grown larger, most significantly Winterhold, which is now as influential as Windhelm and Whiterun. Similarly, smaller villages such as Riverwood and Karthwasten have grown into towns, and hamlets like Darkwater Crossing are villages.**

**- There are several new villages, most notably Reathwind in eastern Falkreath, Falcon's Fall in central Haafingar, Halfway (so named because it's halfway between Rorikstead and Whiterun) and Farlight in south-west Winterhold. **

**- Helgen has been rebuilt and is a large town again.**

**- Some small places that were little map landmarks in **_**Skyrim **_**have become settlements – for example, more houses were built alongside Mixwater Mill and now it's a small village called Mixwater.**

**- Dragon Bridge is being rebuilt after a recent dragon attack practically destroyed it.**

**None of that will influence the actual plot much, but I thought it might be interesting for you to see how Skyrim has changed. **

**Anyway, that's it from me. See you next chapter, and thanks for reading!**


	6. Moonlight Gathering

**There's quite a bit of dialogue between dragons in this chapter, so naturally when they're talking to each other they're speaking in Draconic. I mixed in some dragon words because dragon dialogue just doesn't read like dragon dialogue unless it's got _dovah _words in it, but unless they're actually talking to a mortal, they're speaking in Draconic all the time.**

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE – MOONLIGHT GATHERING

The call had been sounded.

He had heard it, echoing over the mountains and across the plains. It had rung out in the air, sharp and clear, seeming not to sound in his ears but in his blood. It was a strange sound, as vibrant and commanding as the sound of a bell, yet with the ferocity and power of a bear's roar. It was a sound that made him freeze halfway through tearing at the dead elk he had caught earlier that day, a sound that almost made him choke on his mouthful of meat, a sound that made his heartbeat quicken and his inner flame flare up in a way it had not flared for twenty years.

It was the sound of a call he had heard many times in his life, a call that he had only ever heard roared in the voice of the only living creature he had ever called _master. _It was a call that had filled his dreams for many long years, and it was a call he could never have denied.

Several hundred metres above the plains of Whiterun, Vulgrahskein flew with steady, powerful wingbeats, his pale green eyes alert and scouring both the ground below and the sky surrounding him. He was an enormous creature; he had carried off more than one young mammoth in his time, and had fought tooth to tusk with adults many times. His scales were a dark reddish-orange, his horns black as ebony, and the dark patches on his wings were far larger than the gold. His face was dappled by shadow-coloured patches, and his spines looked almost as if they had been forged from iron.

Vulgrahskein would not have called himself old, but he was most certainly not a young dragon. He had fought alongside Alduin all three times he had waged war on Skyrim, and all three of those times he had been one of the World-Eater's most loyal and trusted servants. His dark red-bronze scales were dented and scratched, a record of the hundreds of battles he had seen in his time. His left horn was broken not far from its base, and his right was notched in a dozen places. A long red scar sliced across his muzzle and along one cheek. Parts of his wings were missing, and there was a hole torn in his right tail-fin.

The Ancient Dragon was constantly aware of the marks that his many years and many battles had dealt upon him. He did not regret a single one. Some dragons, Vulgrahskein knew, were fond of hoarding treasure; whether it was gold, jewels or simply animal bones. His scars were his hoard, his treasure, his greatest source of pride. Each one told a different story. The scar that cut across his face was proof to any dragon who asked that he had survived a blow from a Nord warrior's blade in the Dragon War ages ago, and how he had repaid the foolish mortal by crushing the life out of him with a single blow from his tail. If he ever came close to forgetting the battle he had fought over his territory with another male dragon - a Legendary Dragon, no less – his broken horn would always be there to remind him how he had dug his teeth into the stronger, faster dragon's neck and shaken him back and forth until the intruder had howled for mercy and fled, bruised and bleeding.

In the days of old, he had gained new scars almost daily. That had been when Alduin had still lived, and Vulgrahskein had been his servant. Those had been the greatest days of the Ancient's life – the greatest days of all time. It had been too long since he had felt the sting of a blade slicing into his scales, or the feeling of ferocious joy that came with digging his talons into a mortal's flesh. Far too long.

That was why he had answered the call.

'Vulgrahskein!'

The shout took the Ancient by surprise, and he turned his head. Nearby, a smaller dragon – brown scaled and with far fewer scars – was flying towards him. For a moment, Vulgrahskein was on the alert. Then, as the brown dragon neared him and his face became clearer, a name flew into his mind. Vulgrahskein let out a roar. '_Drem yol lok, _Keinvulnax!'

'Greetings, _wuthiik fahdon.' _The smaller dragon reached him and swung around to fly alongside him. 'You too have heard the call?'

There were few dragons Vulgrahskein would have allowed to address him as _old friend, _but Keinvulnax was one of them. The Fire Dragon had been just one of the many soldiers of Alduin in the days of the Dragon War, not particularly strong or skilled, but he had saved Vulgrahskein's life in one battle, and the Ancient did not forget a debt. He and Keinvulnax had fought together more times than he could count. They made an odd pair, a hulking Ancient and a slim, weaker brown _dovah, _but though they had gone separate ways, as all dragons had, after the death of Alduin, Vulgrahskein was still proud to call Keinvulnax his _grah-zeymahzin – _his ally, and his friend.

Vulgrahskein lowered his head slightly. 'I heard it,' he growled. 'Alduin's summons.'

Looking a little sheepish, Keinvulnax asked, 'Do you think he could have _daalaan?'_

'Returned? Do not be _meyus.' _Vulgrahskein snorted scornfully. 'You felt Alduin's death within you; all the _dovahhe _did. Our _in _is long since gone.'

Keinvulnax didn't seem troubled. Vulgrahskein was fairly certain that the other dragon had expected this reaction. 'Then who could have called? Only Alduin ever used that _thu'um.'_

'The fact that Alduin created the _for, _and that no other _dovahhe _have used it in our memories, does not mean that only he could ever use it.'

'But what other _dovah _would dare to use it? That call is for a _thur – _an overlord of _dov. _Who would presume to call themselves our leader now that Alduin is gone?'

'That is why I answered the summons.' Vulgrahskein turned his head towards Keinvulnax. 'To discover the answer to that question. Is that not also why you are here, _dii fahdon?'_

'_Vahzah. _But only in part.' Keinvulnax stole a slightly furtive look at the Ancient Dragon. 'Have you not also longed for leadership since Alduin's defeat? Without a _thur _to unite us, the _dovahhe _could never come together and take power over _Keizaal.'_

Vulgrahskein frowned doubtfully, but he could not stop a flicker of excitement from sparking within him. Perhaps there was a chance – just a slim, fragile hope – that the _dovahhe _could still rule Tamriel. That they could claim what belonged to them and live as free beasts once more.

'We are nearing the source of the _for,' _Keinvulnax said, lowering his neck slightly and turning his head downwards. 'It came from near here.'

Glancing down, Vulgrahskein saw the golden-brown grass of the tundra stretching away in every direction. His eyes swept over the landscape, and made out a single patch of grey. Looking closer, he saw that it was a hollow, lined with stone; a Nordic barrow, most likely. Nearby, a vast hole had been torn in the ground; earth and rocks were scattered around the opening. Vulgrahskein felt his heart miss a beat – what kind of creature had the strength to shred the earth in such a way?

Beside him, Keinvulnax folded his wings slightly and went into a dive. Vulgrahskein copied the smaller dragon, swooping down low over the ground, his tail-tip brushing the grass, and finally landing not far from the stone pit. With a spitting sound, Vulgrahskein moved away from it; he didn't want to be anywhere near the tomb of Nord 'heroes' who might well have slain some of his kin in the past.

There were a few dragons already present, gathered around the entrance to the barrow, giving each other a wide berth. A few shot uneasy glances at each other, but most stared either down at the grass or up at the sky. The Ancient Dragon swept his gaze from side to side, taking in his fellow _dovahhe. _There was a female Revered Dragon, orange-scaled with an odd, beaked mouth and a blue dorsal stripe, sitting perched upon a boulder, a green Blood Dragon clawing at the ground in an anxious manner, a pair of she-dragons, one Fire, one Frost, and a Serpentine lying curled in the grass with his tail tucked over his feet. There were no other Ancient Dragons, Vulgrahskein saw with satisfaction. None of them was speaking.

'So few,' Keinvulnax remarked in surprise, gazing around at them, keeping his voice low. 'I would have thought that many would come in the hope of finding a new _thur.'_

'Some of those most loyal to Alduin may not have answered out of refusal to serve another _in,' _Vulgrahskein suggested. 'And many who believed he would live forever turned _fel _after his death. They would not understand the call if they heard it.'

Keinvulnax let out a low snarl. 'Many of our _fel _kin have been slain by those _vaxxe. _The Dragonhearts.'

Vulgrahskein turned his head sharply towards his companion. The sound of the hated name was like having talons dig into his flesh. Nearby, he saw the Blood Dragon look at them uneasily. The other dragons were staring, too – it seemed hearing _that _name had alerted them. Keinvulnax glanced at the ground awkwardly at the sight of the inquisitive eyes that fixed themselves upon him.

'Where is our caller, then?' It was the Revered Dragon who spoke, her eyes narrowed. Vulgrahskein wondered if she was trying to attract attention away from Keinvulnax's mention of the Dragonhearts. 'I have flown far to be here. If I find some _mey _has summoned us for no reason…'

A threatening snarl sounded in her throat.

'No one would dare,' the Serpentine said firmly, thumping his tail on the ground as if to underline his point.

'We cannot be certain,' the Frost Dragon female called. '_Til los pogaas wah ren. _But if there is a chance that a new leader is arising…'

Keinvulnax gave the _Fo-Dovah _an appraising look. 'You, too, tire of being without purpose_?'_

'Of course I tire of it,' the she-dragon snapped. '_Dov _are meant to hunt free, kill where we please, live as we choose. And here we are, living like _doskke _in hiding from those…' Her entire body shook with barely suppressed rage as she searched for a word. Eventually she seemed to give up, and simply let out a quiet roar.

Vulgrahskein saw the Blood Dragon shift restlessly. 'The Dragonhearts are not the enemies of all _dovahhe,' _he said suddenly.

'Not our enemies?' Vulgrahskein stared at the Blood Dragon in amazement. 'Not our enemies, when they hunt us down and slaughter us like _sunvaarre?'_

'They do not want to kill us needlessly,' the Blood Dragon muttered, his eyes focused very firmly on the ground. From his expression, Vulgrahskein suspected he rather wished he hadn't spoken. 'They only hunt down those who are a danger to _joorre. _They wish to stop us from hunting mortalkind. That is all.'

The Revered Dragon spat, and the Frost Dragon looked insulted. 'It is our birthright to hunt mortalkind!'

'They are weak,' Keinvulnax agreed. 'We are strong. We are predators; they are prey. Why should we not hunt them?'

'And what makes you so certain of their intentions?' Vulgrahskein growled, taking a step towards the Blood Dragon.

'I…' The Blood Dragon blinked and clawed at the ground, looking more uncomfortable by the second. 'For the past few _evgir, _I have lived at the _Monahven. _As one of them.'

The reaction of the other dragons was as if they had been struck by lightning. The Revered Dragon let out a strangled, choked sound that might or might not have been an attempt at coherent speech – if it was, it failed miserably. Keinvulnax's talons sunk into the earth, and a fierce, rumbling growl echoed within his throat. The last of the three she-dragons, the brown-scaled one who had thus far avoided speaking, gasped out, _'Grutiik!' _The Serpentine raised his head so sharply Vulgrahskein was surprised he hadn't injured his neck, and the Frost Dragon let out what appeared to be an involuntary puff of ice from her mouth.

'You are one of _them?' _Keinvulnax spat.

'I wanted a purpose!' The Blood Dragon lifted his head defiantly. 'I could not live alone, without a _thur. _My inner rage was too strong. I would have become _fel!'_

'So you chose to become a traitor to your own kind?' the Revered Dragon snapped.

'Why do you think I am here?' The Blood Dragon reared up suddenly, unfurling his wings and spreading them out as wide as they would go. 'I need an _in, _a _thur, _but if I can be led by a _dovah _and not a _joor, _then that is what I choose!'

There was a sudden roar, and every horned head turned to the north as the sound of wingbeats filled the air. Another dragon was approaching, at first only a darker blur against the black of the night, but gradually growing clearer and more distinct. Vulgrahskein's eyes took in odd, inward-curing horns, dusky purple scales, white-and-lilac mottled wings, and eight small, beady eyes, clustered together in two tight groups on either side of his head. A Legendary Dragon, then – and despite himself, Vulgrahskein found himself feeling impressed. His kind, the Ancient Dragons, were some of the most powerful dragons there were, but the Legendaries were stronger still, as his shattered horn constantly reminded him.

_Wait._ Vulgrahskein felt his eyes narrowing as he watched the newcomer tilt his wings, thrust out his feet and land heavily on the frost and grass coated ground. There was something familiar about this dragon, something that made his skin crawl.

And then he saw it. The series of white marks around the dragon's throat. They were small marks, fairly evenly spaced arranged in a thin, slanted oval shape just where his head joined his neck.

Vulgrahskein knew instantly that they were bite marks. Made by a dragon's teeth. Made by _his _teeth.

It took him a moment to realise that the Legendary Dragon was staring at him. Vulgrahskein shifted his eyes from side to side, and noticed that the other dragons were looking between the two of them. Keinvulnax's expression was apprehensive; the others' were confused.

'_You.'_ The word was softly spoken, but pure hatred smouldered in it, vicious and scalding.

Vulgrahskein met the eight-eyed gaze. '_Zey_,' he replied, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. 'It has been a long time, Kahjuniisk.'

The Legendary Dragon's lips curled up, revealing his jagged white teeth. 'Not long enough, Vulgrahskein.'

'_Sok eruvosse, _I believe.' Vulgrahskein nodded towards the marks on the underside of Kahjuniisk's neck. 'Six years, and yet you still have the scars. It pleases me that I left you with a reminder of your defeat.'

'You paid a price for your victory, _Kruziik.' _Kahjuniisk's multiple eyes were slits. 'Do you remember? Perhaps I should remind you by breaking your other horn.'

Vulgrahskein became aware that Keinvulnax had stepped up to his side. For a moment he considered snapping to the smaller dragon that he could fight his own battles, but Keinvulnax spoke before he could do so.

'Enough. We are all here for the same reason. The past is in the past.' Keinvulnax took a bold step forwards, positioning himself between the Ancient and the Legendary. 'If there is a new _in _arising, we shall all serve him as equals. What anger we bear against each other for past deeds must be forgotten.'

There was a short, tense silence, and Vulgrahskein was given the impression that the other dragons were holding their breath. Then Kahjuniisk spat onto the earth and turned his head away.

'Mind your tongue and know your place, _prun-vrii,' _he snarled at Keinvulnax. 'Do not presume to give commands to a _Zooriil.'_

But he slunk away over the grass and settled on a nearby boulder without another look at either of them.

'_Kogaan,' _Vulgrahskein muttered to Keinvulnax, the moment Kahjuniisk was out of earshot. 'I had no wish to fight. I am grateful.' Vulgrahskein was reluctant to thank anyone, even an ally as old and trusted as Keinvulnax, but he decided the situation called for it. Engaging second contest with Kahjuniisk was about as good an idea as landing in the courtyard of High Hrothgar and announcing to everyone within earshot that he was a follower of Alduin.

They stood in silence for some time, waiting. The only thing that disturbed them was the arrival of another dragon; a Storm Dragon with scales of slightly purplish grey, who alighted some distance from them, looked at them as if unnerved by the fact that they were there, and settled himself on the grass some distance away.

'I hope whoever called us does not take much longer,' Vulgrahskein muttered to Keinvulnax. 'I shall give them to midnight. When the _iilaahhe _are at their highest point, I shall return to my lair.'

Keinvulnax grunted agreement. 'We cannot throw away our _tiid _waiting for a _thur _who does not see fit to arri-'

Without warning, a roar cut into the air, a roar that drowned out the rest of Keinvulnax's sentence, made the Blood Dragon leap back with a startled yelp and the Serpentine cower. Vulgrahskein's eyes widened, and he cast his eyes around, seeking out the source of the noise. It seemed to have come from underground – and suddenly it sounded again, and this time Vulgrahskein felt the earth beneath his feet tremble.

And then the dragon burst from beneath the ground.

At first, it seemed like he had come out of nowhere, as if some weird, vast plant had taken root and was growing at lightning speed. Then Vulgrahskein remembered the hole torn in the earth, and realised that this dragon had been underground, probably in that Nordic barrow, and now he had emerged, and now he was landing on the ground in front of them, making the earth shudder again, and the weak light from the sliver of moon that hung in the heavens was shining down upon him –

Vulgrahskein gasped. He couldn't stop himself.

At first, he thought that the newcomer was an Ancient Dragon, for his scales were coloured a reddish bronze not dissimilar to Vulgrahskein's own. But then he felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw the dragon's face – and then his other face. And his other face.

He heard Keinvulnax made a strangled, disbelieving sound, and saw the Revered Dragon's beak drop open. Vulgrahskein stood staring, scarcely able to believe what his eyes were telling him.

But there was no doubt about it. He was looking at a dragon with three heads. One with the copper scales of an Ancient, one with the white of a Frost, and the last with a Storm Dragon's blue-grey.

'_Vokorosaal!' _the Blood Dragon gasped, but Vulgrahskein said nothing. There was no point wasting words. The Blood Dragon was wrong – clearly this was _not _impossible, because it was happening. This was a _sedklovdovah. _A three-headed dragon. The question not whether or not it was true, but how it was true.

The creature stretched out and folded his wings, paused for a moment, then spoke with all three mouths, in three different voices.

'_Drem yol lok. _Welcome, my brothers and sisters. I am Qoyoliiz.'

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Vulgrahskein wondered if any of them were even breathing.

'You have all come here because you heard my call. Perhaps you are wondering why I have called you… or how I dared to use the _for _when it was created and used by Alduin. And I am almost certain that you are wondering how I can possibly exist.'

Vulgrahskein briefly considered that Qoyoliiz might have the ability to read minds, but he soon realised that it didn't take much to guess what was going on inside their heads at that moment. Their thoughts were fairly clear from their expressions.

'I shall answer these questions from the last to the first,' Qoyoliiz told them. 'I shall begin with the question of my _lahney. _How is it that a _dovah_ such as I – ' He arched his trio of necks, as if to underline just how unnatural, how incredible a creature he was – 'Is able to fly the skies of _Keizaal, _and breath the air of _Taazokaan? _The answer, my _fron, _lies with these mortals here.'

Vulgrahskein recoiled in shock. He had been so intent on listening to Qoyoliiz that he had not noticed the mortals emerging from the barrow – at least, he assumed that was where they had come from. There were elves and men, and a single Khajiit, all clad in similar black robes. Most of them were hanging back, staying behind Qoyoliiz, looking at the assembled dragons with obvious apprehension on their faces. One, though, a tall Altmer man with bright yellow eyes and a long scar stretching down the side of his face, strode forwards boldly to stand beside the three-headed dragon, as if attending meetings with a pack of dragons was something he did on a daily basis.

'_Joorre!' _It was the brown-scaled she-dragon who spoke, the words spat out fiercely. 'What are they doing here?'

'They are here for the same reason that you are, _briinah,' _Qoyoliiz answered. 'Have patience. All shall be explained.'

'Then explain.' Kahjuniisk's tail lashed.

One of Qoyoliiz's heads gave the Legendary Dragon a piercing, warning glare, while the others remained focused on the rest of the crowd. 'This _fahliil _here goes by the name of Veldarion,' he continued, stumbling slightly over the odd mortal name. 'His magic is the reason I am here. He is my creator. He knows secrets of the _dovahhe _that we ourselves do not know, and he has knowledge of magic that no others of his kind could imagine. He gave me life, and he gave me my power.'

There was another pause, while the meaning of his words slowly sank in. And then a new sound split the air – the last sound Vulgrahskein had expected to hear.

Laughter.

'So you are but a pawn of _joorre!' _It was the she-dragon again, her voice dripping with contempt. 'I came here hoping to find a strong new _in _who would lead us against the mortals and let us take back _Keizaal. _But all I have found is some… some mutant beast creating as a mortal's plaything!'

Keinvulnax gasped. '_Briinah, _you should not – '

Qoyoliiz broke across him. His three voices were all low, but somehow they were more chilling and more terrifying now that they were quiet and cold than they would have been had they been roaring.

'Have a care how you speak, _rekdovah,' _he hissed. 'Do not insult my honour. I am a _dovah, _and the blood than runs in my veins is blood that I share with you all. My quest is to conquer _Keizaal,_ as you say. Join me, and I shall give you all you desire. Stand against me – '

'I shall not stand against you, _ahvakaar,' the_ she-dragon sneered. 'I shall simply allow you to carry out your _meyus _plans and watch as you are killed. You have no right to use Alduin's _for. _You are no _dovah _overlord. You are no _dovah _at all! You are an experiment, a tool of these mortals!'

Now only one of the three heads spoke; the others were growling, a low, deep, menacing sound. 'I warn you now. One more insult to my honour, and you die.'

'No, not a tool. I know what you are!' The brown-scaled dragon's eyes flashed with glee. 'You are the mortals' _pet!'_

It happened so quickly that Vulgrahskein was certain that he would have missed it if he had blinked. One moment, the she-dragon was standing brazenly on the grass, her eyes glinting as she jeered at the vast creature standing before her. The next, she was on the ground, lying flat on her back, her wings pinned down and Qoyoliiz's talons pressed against her chest.

'I am Qoyoliiz.' The heads spoke in unison this time, and they spoke in a roar. 'I have power that Alduin could never have dreamed of. I have three times his strength and three times his cunning. I shall succeed where he failed. I shall claim _Keizaal _for the _dovahhe… _but only for those _dovahhe _who have the wisdom to stand by me. Those who would challenge me…'

He did not finish the sentence, but the cruel smiles on his faces left none of them in any doubt how it would have ended.

'_Nid! Nid!' _All the arrogance was gone from the she-dragon's voice now, replaced by raw terror. '_Hi nis krii zey! _Mercy – I beg you, have mercy – '

Qoyoliiz's centre head bent down until the end of his muzzle was a hair's breadth away from hers.

'There is no mercy,' he hissed.

Three sets of teeth flashed briefly in the feeble starlight. An agonised scream ripped through the air – and was abruptly cut short.

Qoyoliiz raised his heads, stepped to the side, and pushed the she-dragon's limp body away from him with a single, contemptuous shove.

'This is what shall become of all who oppose me,' he growled. 'This is the fate that all my enemies shall meet. But I shall spare those _dovahhe _who do not join me, as long as they do not side with our foes. They can be forgiven for believing that no dragon can take Tamriel, after the failures of Alduin.'

His gaze swept the small crowd. 'Three times, Alduin came to Nirn! Three times, he tried to take power! And three times, he failed! Think of that, brothers. Is that a _thur _who deserves your loyalty? But I shall not fail. I will destroy this world of mortals. I shall bring down their heroes, one by one. Even the _Dovahkiin. _Her power is nothing compared to mine.'

For the first time, the Elf stepped forwards and spoke. His voice was high-pitched for a male mortal, and had an odd, brittle quality.

'It is true that Qoyoliiz is not a creature created naturally,' he said, his face impassive. 'But ask yourselves, my friends – what does that matter? If you are to follow anyone, what matters is his strength and his intelligence, not his origins.' He spread out his arms slightly. 'Join us. We shall begin with small attacks. Slowly, as other dragons come to see our strength, they shall join us too. And when we have amassed enough followers – and we will – we shall strike at the heart. We shall tear down the walls of mortal cities and devour their Jarls and Counts and Kings. No army will be a match for the combined might of both the dragons and the mortals who have the sense to follow us. And when the battle is won, and Skyrim ours, I shall govern the mortals. Qoyoliiz shall lead the dragons. And though all our followers, whether they are mortal or dragon, shall be equal, the same cannot be said for those fools who do not join us. The _joorre _shall be the slaves of _dovahhe, _just as they were before in the days of old.'

'Great days.' Qoyoliiz's eyes were blazing. 'Golden days. I never knew them, but I know that many of you did. Tell me, my brethren – are there any among you who would not see them return?'

He reared suddenly, spreading his wings. 'Give us your answer! Who will fight for the right to bring back those days? Who shall fight for the freedom and the power of _dov?_ Who will join the Bloodcallers, and help us to win back our land?'

Silence fell again, broken only by the faint whispering of the wind. The dragons glanced from side to side and at each other; Vulgrahskein looked between the faces and saw doubt, excitement and apprehension stamped upon them. But no one spoke, though he saw the Frost Dragon and the Serpentine Dragon murmuring to each other. Vulgrahskein turned to Keinvulnax, about to ask what he thought, but before he could speak a voice rang out through the cold night air.

'I will join you!'

Every head turned. The grass rustled as the female Revered Dragon stepped away from the others, her oddly-shaped head held high. She crossed the centre of the circle to stand in front of the three-headed dragon, her eyes gleaming.

'My name is Skarvennax,' she announced, her voice carrying clearly to the watchers. 'At the time of the second fall of Alduin, five hundred years before this day, my mate had already fallen to the _Dovahkiin's _arrows, but I had two sons still living; twin males, Naaslaarum and Voslaarum. They were young, not yet strong enough to fend for themselves, and to keep them safe, I fled to hidden valley where I believed they would be safe from _joorre._' She spat out a small plume of flame that reduced a patch of grass to ashes. 'I was wrong. A day came when I left them alone to go hunting. When I returned, they were gone. All that was left was bare bones, and I found black arrows lying in the snow. The_ Dovahkiin_ had slain them both.'

A soft growling rose from the assembled dragons, and Skarvennax went on, looking more confident now. 'My sons should have lived for hundreds of _eruvosse_, but they were cut down before they could see the turn of a single century. Since their deaths I have dreamed, both in my waking and sleeping hours, for_ nahkriin_. And do I not deserve revenge? They were my _fron,_ and blood must be repaid with blood! The Dragonborn who caused their _dinok _is long since gone. But her descendant survives, and can be punished.' Her talons sunk into the ground, raking lines in the earth. 'I shall join you,_ thur_ Qoyoliiz. I shall join you, for the sake of my mate and sons. For a chance of vengeance upon the _Dovahkiin_, and upon all mortals. And if any of you have honour and the hearts of true _dovahhe_, you shall stand alongside us!'

She turned as she spoke the last sentence, glaring defiantly at the others. Almost instantaneously, the Serpentine sprang down from the boulder he had been crouching on.

'And so I shall,' he growled. 'I am Vednahviing. I was hatched not long after the second fall. I remember little of Alduin, but I served him for a time upon his third coming, and I know that the _dovahhe_ are meant to rule. The _joorre_ have taken our right to fly free away from us. I shall die if I must to win it back.' He lowered his head. _'In_, I am yours to command.'

From his place at the back of the small crowd, he Storm Dragon let out a quiet snort, but in the silence of the night, the sound was easily heard. Qoyoliiz's triple gaze turned to him. 'And you, _Strun-Dovah?'_

The Storm Dragon's tail twitched. 'You are fools,' he hissed, staring defiantly at the _sedklovdovah _and the two who stood beside him. 'Do you truly believe that the _dovahhe _can triumph over _joorre, _after all that has happened?'

'We can.' It was the Elf who spoke, his yellow eyes flashing in the light they reflected from the moon. 'If we stand together and fight -'

'_Meyye!' _The Storm Dragon barked the word. 'You are fools. All of you. And so was I, to come here!' His voice grew bitter. 'I see now that our kind should not have masters. I should have learned this long ago.'

'If you have your reservations because of what happened to Alduin,' the Altmer said coldly, 'I can assure you-'

'I speak not only of Alduin.' The blue-grey scaled dragon shook his head angrily. 'I had another _in _once. I served a mortal, just as you do, _sedklov. _My master was Miraak, the first _Dovahkiin. _I believed him to be invincible, yet he was slain in the end. Then there was Alduin, and he, too, fell. You are merely another like them. You have power, but you do not understand how to use it.'

Qoyoliiz took a step forward, all three heads growling. 'And who are you to tell me how to use my _mulaag?'_

'I am Lommirsuth,' the _strun-dovah _replied calmly. 'Nothing more and nothing less. Having a master will not make me stronger. No dragon or mortal that there is or was can make me more than I am. You will lead these fools who would follow you to their _dinokke. _I came here in the hope that perhaps you might be different from Alduin and Miraak. It was a vain hope.'

He turned away, half unfurling his wings. 'I see more clearly now. We cannot rule mortals. They cannot rule us. We must exist together, but if we _krif, _it shall destroy us. And any who claim mastery over _dov _shall lead us to war. And if we go to war, we shall all be slain.'

Lommirsuth spread his wings. 'Do not let him do this to you, my brothers and sisters. He shall lead you to nothing but pain and death.'

Without another word, he launched himself into the air and soared away towards the north. Vulgrahskein watched him go, his eyes narrowing. Was the Storm Dragon right? It was true, certainly, that every time a new _in _had sworn to take power over the dragons and lead them to glory, that it had never happened, and that they had always been defeated. The Ancient looked at Qoyoliiz with new doubt stirring in his heart. The _sedklovdovah _was powerful and terrifying, that was for certain, but could he truly succeed where Alduin and Miraak had failed?

'He is wrong.' It was the Frost she-dragon who spoke, her voice breaking up Vulgrahskein's thoughts. 'We shall never take _Keizaal _for our own unless we fight for it. I am willing to risk my blood and my life for the chance to take what is rightfully mine. This time we shall conquer. The _dovahhe _shall rule, with your guidance.' She dipped her head towards Qoyoliiz and the Elf.

Qoyoliiz's three faces smiled. 'Wise words, _Fo-Dovah. _Your name?'

'Krahsosmaar,' she answered, lifting her head proudly.

'You are welcome, Krahsosmaar,' the Altmer told her, bowing slightly. 'And what of you others?' His eyes flickered over the four who had not yet chosen – the young Blood Dragon, Kahjuniisk, Keinvulnax and Vulgrahskein.

The Blood Dragon looked at the others, as if waiting for one of them to speak, then swallowed and nodded. 'I shall join you. I know that without a _thur _to command me, I shall turn feral. I have served the Dragonhearts for these past _evgirre, _but I would rather have a _dovah _master than a mortal one – even the Dragonborn.'

'And you are?' the Elf asked.

'Daandugram.' The Blood Dragon muttered the word almost grudgingly, and Vulgrahskein glared at him. _Dragons should take pride in their names! They speak of who we are._

'You are brave to leave the Dragonhearts, Daandugram. And intelligent. They shall not win – they cannot win.' The Altmer's smile was wolflike now. 'You will be of great use to us. The Dragonhearts are the only force that could possible stand in our way. With you on our side, we can eliminate them quickly. You can help us to bring them down from the inside.'

Daandugram's face creased into a confused frown. 'You wish for me to be _aan vonzun?'_

'A spy, yes.' The High Elf rubbed his hands together. 'It will be of great assistance.'

The Blood Dragon nodded uncertainly. 'Your wish is my command, _in.'_

'Mine, too.'

Vulgrahskein's head snapped around, and he stared in shock at Keinvulnax, who had spoken the words. The brown dragon met Vulgrahskein's gaze calmly. 'If we have a chance at last to take power over _Keizaal, _and to hunt mortals once again the way we should, I shall take it. It has been too long since I lasted tasted mortal blood. It is time for our kind to take their rightful places as masters of mortals – or most _joorre, _at any rate,' he added, nodding towards the Altmer and his small band of followers. 'Come, Vulgrahskein. Join us. Fight as a true _dovah _once again.'

'Unless you're too frightened, broken-horn,' Kahjuniisk sneered.

A rumbling growl sounded in Vulgrahskein's throat. 'You are joining these… Bloodcallers, then?'

Kahjuniisk dipped his head. 'As will you, unless you are a coward.'

That settled it. The chance of being able to sink his talons into mortal flesh again was tempting enough. But Vulgrahskein was not going to let Kahjuniisk ridicule him. If the Legendary Dragon was accepting Qoyoliiz's offer, then so was he.

'I am no coward,' Vulgrahskein snarled. 'And I shall prove it by the shedding of mortal blood!'

'You will, in time.' The High Elf stepped forwards, positioning himself between Vulgrahskein and Kahjuniisk just as Keinvulnax had. His face did not display a single trace of fear. 'Have patience, ancient one. Your time will come.'

'And you are?' the Storm Dragon head of the _sedklovdovah _demanded.

'Vulgrahskein. And he is Kahjuniisk.'

'You have no right to speak my name, _krent-zahk!'_

'_Enough!'_

Qoyoliiz thundered the word, and every dragon took a pace backward. It suddenly struck Vulgrahskein how enormous the three-headed dragon was, and how easily he could kill any one of them. His gaze flickered across the grass to where the dead she-dragon lay sprawled out in a patch of mud made by her own blood. Those three vicious jaws had taken her life so quickly. Mortals, Vulgrahskein thought with a thrill, would have no chance. _And neither will I, if I cross him._

'Our battle is with the _joorre. _You will soon be able to unleash your _rahgol _upon them. But we must not fight amongst ourselves.' It was Qoyoliiz's centre head that spoke, while the other two glared at Vulgrahskein and Kahjuniisk.

'I will restrain myself,' Vulgrahskein muttered. 'If he does.'

The High Elf's voice rang out before Kahjuniisk could retort. 'Put aside your differences. We are all Bloodcallers now.'

'This is the beginning of a war,' Qoyoliiz announced. 'A war that begins in secret. A war that shall spread across _Keizaal _and then across all _Taazokaan. _A war in which we shall be victorious!'

'And every war has a first battle.' Veldarion's yellow eyes were narrowed into slits. 'Every fire must have spark. We shall waste no time; Qoyoliiz and I have already begun laying plans. And now that you have joined us – ' His gaze fell on Daandugram – 'Everything shall become far simpler.'

'There is only one mortal on Nirn who has the power to stand against us.' Three identical smiles spread across Qoyoliiz's faces. 'And so we shall begin with her, before she has time to gather her own forces. Before she even knows that we exist.'

'We shall begin,' Veldarion said quietly, 'By destroying the one who, they say, is the only one the _dovahhe _ever feared. We know better. You are here, my friends, because you fear nothing. So, tell me.' A cold, cruel laugh echoed through the air. 'Which of you is not afraid to kill the Dragonborn?'

* * *

**Anyone notice that Qoyoliiz is a little more eloquent than some of the other dragons? Yeah, that's mostly because Veldarion spent most of the day teaching him what to say to them. **

**Part of the reason why I included Vithmulsah's backstory in the last chapter was to compare it to the stories of dragons like Vulgrahskein, Keinvulnax and Kahjuniisk. In a way, I reckon their anger with the Dragonhearts is understandable - they're used to killing who and what they want to, when they want to. Which is why they're willing to follow a weird creature like Qoyoliiz and a mortal like Veldarion.**

**Since a lot of new characters were introduced in this chapter, I'll give another character list here:**

**THE BLOODCALLERS:**

**Mortals:**

**Veldarion – Male Altmer**

**Drethin – Male Dunmer**

**Lurag gro-Dushnikh – Female Orc**

**Auguste – Male Breton**

**Morri – Female Nord**

**Torndir – Male Nord**

**Bharadi – Female Khajiit**

**Dragons:**

**Qoyoliiz – Male three-headed dragon ('Lightning Fire Ice')**

**Vulgrahskein – Male Ancient Dragon ('Dark Battle Scar')**

**Kahjuniisk – Male Legendary Dragon ('Pride King Fang')**

**Skarvennax – Female Revered Dragon ('Hawk Wind Cruelty')**

**Vednahviing – Male Serpentine Dragon ('Black Fury Wing')**

**Krahsosmaar – Female Frost Dragon ('Cold Blood Terror')**

**Daandugram – Male Blood Dragon ('Doom Devourer Cloud')**

**Keinvulnax – Male Fire Dragon ('War Dark Cruelty')**

**All right, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Because of exams, the next chapter may take some time, but it'll be up eventually, I promise. :)**


	7. In The Scars

**It's... finally... done... *collapses***

**Sorry, guys. I've been writing this bit by bit in between exams, which means a) this chapter is nowhere near as good as I'd like and b) it took ages. I might come back and edit it later. Anyway... here it is at last, and I hope you enjoy it. :)**

**(For some reason my computer isn't showing line breaks at certain points. Sorry about that, I hope you can work out where the scene changes are meant to be. I've tried to put in some spaces there.)**

* * *

CHAPTER SIX – IN THE SCARS

A'jira had always been a light sleeper. It stemmed, she suspected, from her childhood, growing up in the orphanage. More than once she'd been dragged out of bed by the small band of children there who were determined to make her life a misery. Soon the smallest creak of a floorboard was enough to awaken her in time to run. The years she had spent in the wilds of Skyrim on her own had heightened that; in the open, there was always a risk of being attacked by wolves, bears, frostbite spiders, mudcrabs, and Gods only knew what else. Over the years, she'd become able to fall asleep quickly and never be too far away from waking up.

It was unsurprising, then, that the shout awoke her so quickly. Her eyes snapped open, glinting bright amber in the darkness, and her ears flicked from side to side, seeking out the noise that had awoken her. All was silence for a few seconds; then she heard a sharp rapping on the door.

The light filtering in through the thin window was weak, but untainted by any red or orange, so A'jira guessed it was a few hours after dawn. She carefully folded back part of the blanket that covered her and slipped out of bed, glad that her fur gave her feet some protection from the icy cold of the stone floor. She crossed the room as silently as she could, although she knew it would take a lot to wake Zaran. Her husband was just as hard to stir from sleep as A'jira was easy.

She twisted the handle slowly and poked her head around the door. One of the newer Dragonhearts, a Nord named Tholund Storm-Shield, was standing in the corridor, shifting his weight from foot to foot and breathing hard, as if he had been running. Briefly, A'jira wondered what he was doing up at that hour – Tholund had never been keen on early rising. It was likely that his swordfighting mentor, Andelm, had forced him up as a 'character building exercise.' Still, that left the question of what exactly Tholund was doing standing outside her bedroom door.

'Something wrong?' A'jira asked, trying her best to stifle a yawn.

Tholund nodded, then shook his head, then shrugged. 'I don't know. One of the dragons wants to speak to you.'

'Which one?' A'jira asked, and she couldn't stop an edge from creeping into her voice. The dragons of High Hrothgar were people, just as much as their bipedal colleagues. She doubted that Tholund would have said 'one of the mortals.'

'Daandugram, I think.' Tholund jerked his head in the direction of the courtyard. 'He went out hunting overnight. He got back as Andelm and I were starting training. He says he's got important news.'

'Did he say what sort of important news?'

Tholund shook his head. 'Just that it was urgent.'

'All right. Tell him I'm coming.'

The Nord nodded quickly and jogged away down the corridor. A'jira shut the door and hurriedly pulled on some outdoor clothes. She heard Zaran stir slightly, but he didn't wake. A'jira knew he wouldn't mind finding her gone. Just one of the many things she loved about Zaran was that he didn't mind much, except maybe heights, and even that didn't trouble it anywhere near as much as it used to. The Argonian took things in his stride.

In less than five minutes, she was pushing her way through the snow in the courtyard. The Blood Dragon Daandugram was standing in the centre, Andelm and Tholund nearby. Daandugram swung his neck around as A'jira approached, and inclined his head in her direction. 'Greetings_, Dovahkiin.'_

'_Drem yol lok, _Daandugram.' A'jira smiled at the dragon. 'You have news for me?'

'It is not good news, I fear.' Daandugram's tail swished back and forth – always a sign of agitation in dragons. 'I have spent the night hunting. I encountered a _dovah _not far from the town below the _Monahven – _a _stin boiik.'_

_Stin boiikke, _or 'free flyers' was the name the Dragonhearts had given to all those dragons who lived a neutral life in Skyrim, not allying themselves with the Dragonhearts, but respecting mortalkind and never preying on men, mer or beastfolk. A'jira had long ago made it a rule that such dragons were never to be poorly treated in any way. They made up the majority of Skyrim's _dovah _population, and were valuable sources of information. A'jira didn't want to make enemies of any of them.

'I knew him of old, and we spoke for a time,' Daandugram said. 'He did not stay long, but before he departed he told me of a _fel. _One of our brothers has been preying on _joorre _in…' He hesitated. 'In the southern Hold, the one with _vildde _and _ahrolle.'_

'The Reach?' A'jira inquired. The other 'southern Holds' were Falkreath and Riften, but the Reach sounded like the mostly likely candidate, if it had 'rocks and hills.'

Daandugram nodded.

'Did he say what kind of dragon it was? Or what settlements he'd been attacking? Or where he lived?'

The Blood Dragon stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. '_Krosis.'_

'No need to apologise. But you should have asked him. If there's a feral dragon in the Reach, we need to find him quickly. The more information you can gather about this sort of thing, the better.'

'_Zu'u los krod, Dovahkiin.'_

'I told you, it doesn't matter. Just ask next time, _zeymah.' _A'jira's brow creased. 'It could be any type of dragon. If it's one of the more powerful breeds – a Legendary or a Serpentine or something like that – we'll need to take a fairly large group with us.' Her mind was already at work, selecting dragons and warriors who might be suitable for the mission. 'Daandugram, did the free flyer give you any specific location at all?'

'_Aan mal. _A little. He was passing on rumours, so he knew little, but he spoke of the _fel _living in the north-west, among the canyons.'

A'jira nodded. 'Thank you, Daandugram. It was good of you to pass on this message. I'll send a few warriors out to the Reach as soon as enough people are awake.'

'Which warriors shall you send?'

'Not you, don't worry.' A'jira grinned at him. 'You've been up all night. Get some rest.'

The Blood Dragon tipped his head on one side. 'Perhaps you should go yourself, _Dovahkiin. _Even if the _fel _is one of the most powerful Legendary _Dovah, _he would stand little chance against you.'

A'jira smiled and shook her head slightly. 'I'm not unbeatable, Daandugram. No one is. Alduin thought he was, and he was wrong. I don't want to make that same mistake.' She sucked her lower lip thoughtfully. 'You may be right, though. It might be a good idea for me to join the mission. I've not been off the mountain for a while. Maybe Lorn will come with me; he should be in good shape, seeing as he didn't go on that scouting mission yesterday.'

She had been outside when the Ancient's Ascent patrol had returned. Sha had been grinning from ear to ear as she dismounted from Kroneirvild, and she and Duroth had run inside to find Arnor without hesitation. Kroneirvild and Juskahrath had departed, flying towards the lower parts of the mountain where most of the dragons made their homes. Echo and Vithmulsah had made their way over to A'jira to make their report; there had been a report of the dragon Vulgrahskein preying on livestock, but no sign of him at his lair, and for no clear reason. A'jira had decided to send a second patrol out to the Ascent later that day. Echo had agreed with the decision, but Vithmulsah had seemed troubled, though he said nothing when A'jira had asked if he was all right. She noticed that when he flew away, he headed in the direction of the summit of the Throat of the World. The only real reason for the dragons to go there was to talk to Odahviing, and A'jira hadn't asked the red dragon if Vithmulsah had spoken to him. Most conversations that were held with the Dragonhearts' Teacher were best kept private.

A'jira hadn't put much more thought to the matter since. There was probably a perfectly logical explanation for Vulgrahskein's absence, and the only thing that was really noteworthy about the mission was how happy it had made her daughter. A smile flickered into life on A'jira's face as she said a hurried goodbye to Daandugram and headed back towards the monastery. Despite the fact that the patrol had been almost completely uneventful, Sha had hardly stopped talking about it since her return.

There was no denying that A'jira was going to have to start letting her daughter go. It pained her to even think it. A'jira had barely known her parents. She had no other relations that she knew of. Zaran and Sha were the only family she had. All her instincts told her to never let Sha out of her sight, to hold on to her precious kit and never let her go. But Sha was a daughter of the Tygra kin, and there was _dovah sos _in her veins. Hers was the blood of destiny. A'jira knew that her daughter had the same thirst for adventure that she'd had at the same age, and no matter how much she tried to protect her, she knew that one day she would have to let Sha make her own way in life.

The Khajiit woman shook her head, as if trying to shake out the troubling thoughts. That didn't matter now. What was important was Daandugram's news, and how to react to it. This was one mission that A'jira knew Sha would not be going on. It was too dangerous; they had no real idea what they might be facing. Any who came with her would have to be skilled warriors, with experience in battling feral dragons. She paused for a moment at the door to High Hrothgar, then pushed it open and went in search of the others.

Half an hour later, A'jira was standing in the courtyard with two other mortals and three dragons. Ilien was perched behind the head of his Wingbrother, a very pale Frost Dragon named Fodiiniiz who bore the marks of having been hit with a mace at some point in his life – a patch of scales near his stomach was twisted into odd shapes, several of them bearing cracks. He and Ilien made a natural team; they were both skilled fighters, both strong and cunning, and able to work perfectly in unison with each other. A'jira had never yet known either of them to panic; they remained utterly cool and focused in battle, no matter how close to death they were.

The other pair of _Viingsoskiin _was made up of the serious Altmer Lorn and a Storm Dragon called Vulqostrun. The _Strun-Dovah _was a large creature, mostly coloured dark grey, with patches of silver on his head and wings, and his eyes were fierce and intense. His kind had been some of Alduin's most loyal servants in the days of old, often the first he called upon when he wanted to strike terror into the hearts of mortals by laying waste to a city. Vulqostrun, though, had taken a very different path to that of most of his kind. He had been one of the first to come to the Throat of the World upon the founding of the order.

The third dragon was A'jira's own Wingsister, Laaskriiah. She was small for a dragon, especialy for an Elder, one of the more powerful breeds, and it was easy to underestimate her abilities. But the fact that she was slender in build allowed her to fly with speed and agility beyond that of many dragons, and she was a fearsome fighter, showing no mercy to her enemies. Without Laaskriiah's aid, A'jira might never have triumphed over Alduin, and they had been working together ever since.

'I grow restless_, briinah.' _Laaskriiah's green eyes were gleaming eagerly as A'jira joined them. 'It has been too long since I was able to make use of my talons.'

'Do not be too eager to shed blood, Laaskriiah,' Vulqostrun told her warningly. 'That is how a _dovah _becomes _fel.'_

A'jira grinned, shaking her head slightly. 'I don't think we need to worry about Laaskriiah going feral. She's been one of us for too long. She was a Dragonheart inside before we were even created.'

The she-dragon let out a satisfied growl at the sound of A'jira's praise. Fodiiniiz thumped his tail on the ground, sending up a shower of snow. 'Are we leaving, _Dovahkiin?'_

'As long as everyone's ready,' A'jira affirmed, pulling herself up onto Laaskriiah's back. 'I hope you're not too tired, Vulqostrun?'

'Tired?' Vulqostrun echoed, looking offended, and Lorn looked uncomfortable. A'jira guessed Lorn hadn't told him about the rather obvious lie he had told to persuade her to let Sha go on the patrol with Echo.

'If anyone's tired, flying should wake them up,' Ilien grinned. 'Are we ready, then?'

Six heads nodded, and the dragons flexed their wings.

'Let's go.' A'jira felt a familiar twinge of excitement within her as Laaskriiah's wings opened wide and pushed down against the air. She guessed the dragon blood inside her meant that she naturally felt at home in the sky.

As soon as they had gained enough height, the Dragonhearts fell into their usual arrowhead formation and turned towards the south. The sky was clear, and the air was fairly warm. A'jira smiled. Whatever danger they faced when they arrived, they were sure to have an enjoyable flight.

She did not look back at the mountain until it was too far away for High Hrothgar to be anything but a blur. And so she did not see the green-scaled dragon who crouched outside the monastery, watching them go through narrowed eyes, a cold smile playing around his lips.

* * *

'Arnor, have you seen my ma anywhere?'

The Nord glanced up from her book, her eyes focusing on Sha in a slightly vague way. It was a bad idea to try to interrupt Arnor when she was reading; her brain would still be half-focused on the book, and it took a long time to get a straight answer to any question you might put to her. On this occasion, though, Sha had decided to risk it.

'Um. Your ma. Yeah.' Arnor frowned, glanced down at the pages she had been reading, then dragged her eyes back up and shut the book, keeping her hand inside it to mark her place. 'I think she left earlier this morning, before you got up.'

She re-opened her book and seemed to promptly forget Sha's existence.

'_Arn!' _Sha rolled her eyes. 'Do you know where she went?'

With a pained expression, Arnor closed the book again. 'I think she got news of a feral dragon somewhere… I don't know where exactly. She went out to deal with it. She took Ilien and Lorn with her, and their Wingsiblings.'

She returned to her book, and Sha decided to leave her to it. Arnor wasn't being rude; she just couldn't resist anything with writing on it.

Sha turned her gaze towards the window, and the slim sliver of sky that was visible through it. She couldn't help but feel a little put out that her mother had left without telling her where she was going, but the feeling soon passed. A'jira often had to leave early for missions, and it was hardly the first time she'd not been able to tell Sha first.

'I hope she's all right,' she murmured, not expecting a reply. She knew that her mother was more than capable of dealing with feral dragons – she'd slain plenty of them before – but it didn't stop Sha from worrying.

She knew that meant it was fairly hypocritical to ask her mother not to worry about her. But she couldn't help it.

If Ilien had gone with her mother, that meant there wouldn't be any swordfighting training that morning. Even without her mentor there, though, Sha felt it would be best to get some practise. If she wanted A'jira to take her seriously, she had to be the best fighter she could be.

She left Arnor in the dining hall, still transfixed by her book, and headed out into the courtyard. As always, it was fairly empty. Duroth and Juskahrath were talking over by the gate that led to the summit. Andelm was at his forge. Otherwise, it was deserted; unsurprisingly, seeing as it was so early.

She suddenly noticed the presence of another dragon in the courtyard: Daandugram, sitting with his tail curled around his feet, his eyes fixed on the sky, his tail-tip twitching slightly. Sha stared at him for a second, wondering what he was doing, then took a couple of steps in his direction. 'Are you all right?'

Daandugram's entire body jerked, and his head whipped around to face her. '_Fos?' _His eyes focused on Sha, and the tension drained from his limbs. 'Oh, _Dovahloz. _Greetings.'

'_Drem yol lok. _Is something wrong?'

'Wrong? _Nid… _no, nothing.' Daandugram shook his head vigorously. 'Did you… want anything, _briinah?'_

'No. I was just going outside to get some swordfighting practise.' She dithered for a moment, uncertain whether she should stay and talk or leave the Blood Dragon in peace. 'You're not looking for anyone, are you?'

'_Nid,' _Daandugram said firmly.

'Oh. Right. You just seemed a bit distant.' Sha shrugged. 'I'd better go, or Ilien will be lecturing me about how I should have spent all my time practising when he comes back. _Guur.'_

'_Guur, Dovahkiir.'_

Sha jogged away over the snow, but her fur was prickling slightly. She could almost feel the Blood Dragon's stare burning into her back, but when she glanced over her shoulder, his eyes were fixated upon the sky once again.

* * *

'We must be getting close.'

A'jira gripped Laaskriiah's right horn with her left hand and leaned to the side, her eyes flicking over the rugged landscape below. Some thirty years before her birth, an earthquake had ripped through this area of the Reach, and it had left its mark. The people of Skyrim had taken to calling this place 'the Scars,' and with good reason. The ground was ripped open in jagged lines, creating a network of rocky gorges and gullies that led into each other like the strands of a spider's web. It was the perfect place for a dragon to hide. This wasn't the first time A'jira had come to this place in search of a rogue dragon, and she doubted it would be the last.

'Fly at a medium height,' she commanded the others, pulling herself upright again. 'Close enough to see any signs of dragon habitation, but low enough that it'll be hard for us to be ambushed from above.'

The three dragons dropped a little lower in the sky, until they were able to make out individual boulders and bushes clustered around the edges of the canyons. A'jira had never liked the Scars. She wasn't too fond of the Reach in general, to be honest – the land was so odd, so twisted and jagged and forbidding. And the Scars, with its shadowy gorges and vicious fangs of rock, was even worse than the rest of the Hold. But A'jira pushed her uneasiness to the back of her mind. Daandugram had told her that there could be a rogue dragon in the area, and she and her fellow Dragonhearts had a duty to find it.

'There, _Dovahkiin!' _Fodiiniiz's voice rang out suddenly. 'Burn marks upon the grass. This place has tasted a dragon's _yol.'_

A second later, A'jira saw it too: a series of brown and black streaks that stood out, clear and stark, from the pale green of the grass and the grey of the rock. After twenty years, to A'jira, the sight was unmistakable. Only a dragon left marks like that, usually when they swooped down on their prey to scorch it to death from above.

'A fire-breather, then,' A'jira said, as Laaskriiah slowed so that they could take a closer look at the scorches.

'These burns are new, _briinah,' _Laaskriiah growled, an edge of excitement in her voice. 'The one who made them must be close by.'

A'jira nodded slowly. 'Laaskriiah and I will fly low and look for more signs on the ground. You four, cover me from above and keep an eye out for trouble. We'll rotate if I don't find anything in a few minutes.'

They continued their southwards flight, with one Wingsibling team swooping close to the torn ground, examining it for any more evidence left behind by their quarry, while the others watched from the sky. It was Lorn who spotted the next clue – a pine tree that had long, deep claw marks stretching down its side, still oozing sap.

'This dragon's not been trying very hard to keep his or her presence a secret,' A'jira remarked grimly, gazing at the scratches. 'It's probably a powerful one – an Elder at the very least. One that's not worried about being found.'

'Or maybe he wants to be found,' Vulqostrun muttered, his sky-coloured eyes glimmering with worry.

Fodiiniiz turned to the Storm Dragon sharply. 'What do you mean by that, _zeymah?'_

Vulqostrun glanced from side to side, shuffling his feet slightly. 'It seems strange that a _dovah _would display their presence so plainly. It feels… _folaas. _Wrong.'

'We would never do such a thing, perhaps.' Laaskriiah frowned at the claw marks. 'But there are many of our kind who have more _zokah, _more pride, than we. Many of our kin have become arrogant over the years.'

'One thing's for sure,' Ilien said. 'We need to be on our guard.'

There was a murmur of agreement.

From then on, it was a simple matter of following the other signs left behind by the dragon. They found a large bloodstain at the edge of one canyon, as if some hapless animal had been ambushed from above, killed and swept away, and a burned tree not far away, its bark blackened and flaking off. The trail led them to another canyon – a natural one, formed by time and not by the earthquake, wide and surrounded on three sides by tall cliffs, their rims lined with pines. The perfect place for a dragon lair.

'This looks like the place,' A'jira said, motioning for them to land at the edge of the one of the cliffs that formed the entrance. 'But we need to be careful. It's the perfect place for an ambush.'

She peered inside. The only sign of life was a wolf pack – an unusually large one, about twelve in all – that raced out of the valley the moment they caught sight of the dragons. There was no sign of anything else.

A'jira breathed in deeply. There were no scents that she could detect other than those of the grass and bushes and the wolf pack, or herself and her companions. But of course, the wind _would _be blowing in the wrong direction for her to be able to smell anything inside the valley, wouldn't it?

She twisted around to look at the others. Ilien's crimson eyes were narrowed with determination; Lorn's face was impassive and calm, just as it always was. Vulqostrun still seemed worried, but both he and Fodiiniiz were trembling slightly with anticipation. As for Laaskriiah… A'jira didn't even need to look at her Wingsister to know that her mouth would be curved into an eager, toothy grin.

There was no need to ask them if they were ready. They were her friends, and they were Dragonhearts. They always were.

'All right,' A'jira announced. 'We're going in.'

* * *

Vulgrahskein was having serious doubts about this mission, and he had a feeling he wasn't the only one.

'This is foolish.' Kahjuniisk's talons scratched thin white lines in the rock. 'If the _sedklov _wishes to see the _Dovahkiin _dead, he should have come himself. Or all of us should have come.'

For the first time, Vulgrahskein found himself agreeing with the Legendary Dragon, but he would sooner have died than said it out loud.

'The _fahliil _Veldarion is wise, for a mortal.' It was Krahsosmaar, the Frost she-dragon, who spoke. 'Did you not hear him before we left? The plan has been set carefully, and Daandugram has laid down the bait. He told us that the _Dovahkiin _should not take more than two others with her. We are four. We have surprise on our side. And we may retreat as soon as the _Dovahkiin _is dead.'

'The Khajiit has killed hundreds of _dovahhe –'_

'_Lone _dovahhe,' Vednahviing pointed out. 'When have the Dragonhearts ever defeated more than one or two dragons fighting together?'

Vulgrahskein let out a scornful snort. 'You are not afraid, are you?'

Kahjuniisk bared his teeth. 'I fear nothing, _krent-zahk!'_

'Then be silent,' Vednahviing snapped.

Vulgrahskein noticed the Serpentine's worried expression as he barked the words, and was given the impression that the black dragon had just as many misgivings about this as he did. He suspected that Krahsosmaar felt the same, too, despite her calm words earlier. She seemed to be the least concerned, though. It took a lot to unnerve a Frost Dragon.

After the initiation of the dragons into the order, the Bloodcallers – Vulgrahskein still felt uncomfortable about applying that word to himself – had spent the night setting down plans. There was an immediate agreement that the Dragonborn had to die. If there was a single living being in all Tamriel that posed a real threat to them, it was her. It had been Veldarion who had come up with most of the plot. Vulgrahskein suspected that he was far more intelligent than his creation, Qoyoliiz, but it had to be admitted that the three-headed dragon was a skilled tactician; perhaps because he had three minds to think with. Veldarion had come up with the ideas to lure the Dragonborn into a trap, but it was Qoyoliiz who had thought up the plan of attack.

The Scars were an obvious place for the ambush. There were plenty of valleys and gorges, like the one they were crouching outside now, where it would be easy to block of the exits. The plan was simple. Daandugram had gone back to the Throat of the World to tell the foolish Khajiit what they wanted her to hear, and Kahjuniisk, Vulgrahskein, Krahsosmaar and Vednahviing had set out for the northern part of the Reach. They had found a suitable valley quickly and set a trail of burn marks and similar signs to lead the Dragonhearts to it. Once the enemy was inside the valley, they would move fast. Vulgrahskein, as the largest and strongest, would block the narrow entrance. Kahjuniisk would keep them talking while Krahsosmaar and Vednahviing, the quietest fliers, flew above them. When everyone was in position, Kahjuniisk would give the signal, and they would go straight for the Dragonborn. A quick bite or burst of flames was all it would take – she might have a dragon's soul, but she had a mortal's feeble body.

All Vulgrahskein's instincts told him that there was no way the Dragonborn could escape. All the same, he was on edge. Veldarion should have told all the dragons to go – he'd said that he wanted Skarvennax and Keinvulnax to remain at Icefall Barrow so that he could 'study' them and 'work out the best way for a dragon to be used in combat' – but surely killing the Dragonborn was more important?

Vulgrahskein had a suspicion that Veldarion didn't fully understand how powerful the Dragonborn was. An ordinary mortal like the elf could never truly comprehend the rage and strength contained in a dragon's soul. It was possessing that fury that made the Khajiit so dangerous – she felt that urge to destroy, but she could _control _it. She could channel it through herself and make herself stronger and fiercer, and yet she could not lose her mind in battle the way dragons so often did. Her mortal heart balanced her dragon soul. And Veldarion, who had never felt a dragon's battle-rage within him, could never understand what a power that gave her.

It didn't _matter, _the Ancient told himself firmly, shaking his head. Yes, maybe Veldarion had underestimated how dangerous the Dragonborn might be. But they had surprise on their side, and she would be outnumbered. Well, actually, if as Daandugram said she probably would, she brought two other mortals and dragons with her, that made six in all – but the mortals were too weak to really count, and even the Dragonborn was only half a dragon. To all intents and purposes, she was outnumbered.

'We should take our places,' he said, as loudly as he could, hoping to drown out his thoughts.

Kahjuniisk nodded. 'They will not be long. Prepare for _grah.'_

Krahsosmaar and Vednahviing both took to the air; moments after they had broken through the pine trees, they blinked out of sight. Vulgrahskein cast a long gaze at Kahjuniisk through narrowed eyes, then followed them, his wingbeats making the trees bend double.

'_Feim zii gron,' _he growled, and watched as his red-bronze scales paled and faded, until the grass below him was visible through his own body. A smile curved across his face. There was no way the Dragonborn would spot him, or any of the others. There was no need to worry. This would be over quickly. She would never know what hit her.

He landed on one of the two cliffs that formed the valley entrance, and winced as he sent a few pebbles clattering down onto the rocks below. He glanced nervously at the sky to his left, and instinctively shrank back against the nearby trees, baring his teeth, though he knew that the approaching enemies could not see him.

The first thing Vulgrahskein noticed was that Daandugram had been right. There were three dragons approaching, and they were flying in an arrowhead shape. As they approached, Vulgrahskein was able to see them more clearly. There was a High Elf riding a stormy-grey _Strun-Dovah, _a Frost Dragon with a Dark Elf gripping his horns, and in the lead, seated upon a small Elder She-Dragon…

Vulgrahskein's entire body tensed, and his breath caught in his throat.

He had never seen her before. He had heard other dragons speaking of her, from time to time, and he knew that they all said – that she was a short, silver-grey Khajiit with ebony coloured stripes and amber eyes that burned like flame. He knew the name of the golden-copper scaled dragon who served as her steed – Laaskriiah. And somewhere, hidden in the back of his memory, was the name that belonged to the _Dovahkiin, _the name that no free dragon ever spoke aloud. A'jira.

This was her. The one who had slain the World-Eater and destroyed everything he had believed in.

He watched, still unable to breathe, as they flew past him and entered the valley. His eyes followed them, though his body remained fixed to the spot until they were out of earshot. Then he took to the air as quietly as he could, and landed in the narrow space between the two cliffs. He smiled; if the Dragonhearts wanted to escape, they would either have to fly up and over the cliffs, where Krahsosmaar and Vednahviing were waiting, or they would have to get past him.

He just hoped everything would go smoothly from now on. If it did, they would soon be returning to Qoyoliiz with the Dragonborn's blood on their talons and a victory they could boast of forever.

Kahjuniisk, at least, seemed to be following the plan. Vulgrahskein watched, crouching low, as the Legendary leaped forth from the line of trees at the far cliff and slammed down to the ground in front of the Dragonhearts. Vulgrahskein saw the Dragonborn ready her bow, the Dark Elf draw his swords, and the High Elf conjure an orb of lightning in each fist.

'_Wo yin aad dii himdah?' _Kahjuniisk roared.

The Dragonborn raised her hand slightly, and Vulgrahskein, realising she was about to speak, crept forwards so that he could hear. Her voice was softer than he had imagined it would be.

'We are sorry to intrude, _Zooruv gein,_' she said. 'We mean you no harm unless you mean us harm.'

Kahjuniisk snarled. 'I mean harm to all _joorre, _and most of all to you, _Dovahkiin.'_

_Fool! She'll attack you if you threaten her like that! _Vulgrahskein screamed mentally. _You have to keep her talking!_

The Khajiit gazed at the Legendary Dragon, her face stony. 'What is your name?'

'_Zu'u los Kahjuniisk. _And this is my home, and you are unwelcome here.'

Vulgrahskein had to admit that Kahjuniisk was a good liar. If he hadn't known that what he was saying was untrue, he wouldn't have been able to work out that it was – and he had a feeling the Dragonborn wouldn't.

'Kahjuniisk, we have received word that you have been attacking mortal settlements. Is this true?'

'And what of it? You mortals are _raanne. _You are prey. We have a right to hunt you, and you have no right to hunt _dovahhe. _You should be ashamed, _vaxxe,_' Kahjuniisk snarled, glaring at the three dragons who faced him. 'You are traitors to our kin. As are you, Dovahkiin. You may have slain Alduin, but do not think this gives you the right to rule over _dov…'_

Suddenly, Vulgrahskein noticed something. The two elves and the three dragons were staring at Kahjuniisk, listening to him. But the Dragonborn's brow was furrowed, and her head was lifted slightly, and her eyes were turned towards the sky. Her nose was twitching.

Vulgrahskein froze as the realisations struck him – firstly, the Dragonborn was a Khajiit. Secondly, she had a far better sense of smell than anyone else present. And thirdly, the wind had just changed direction.

Desperately, Vulgrahskein tried to think of some way to signal to Vednahviing and Krahsosmaar to do it _now – _but the Dragonborn's eyes were already widening with shock and fear.

'_PAALLE AVOK!' _

Her words were half a roar and half a scream. And without warning, everything was happening at once.

The vague ripples in the air above started to streak downwards as Krahsosmaar and Vednahviing dived.

The Dragonhearts scattered, the three dragons leaping into the air in three different directions.

Kahjuniisk let out a bellow of fury and reared, a Shout beginning to rumble in his throat.

Vulgrahskein saw the colour beginning to return to his body, and spread his wings.

For a single second, there was no sound except for the rushing of wind under the wings of seven dragons flying at lightning speed.

And then everything was chaos.

* * *

***Dodges thrown items* Yes, I ended on a cliffhanger after making you wait this long... I'm sorry...**

**A'jira shouted, 'Foes above,' by the way, and she used Draconic because the dragons would react more quickly to that. Um, I can't think of anything else to say, so thanks for reading. I'll try to get the next chapter up soonish. :)**


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